Abyssus
by The Philosopher's Queen
Summary: Three years after the crystallisation of Cocoon, Snow is living out the dream he always wanted. But when a huge explosion decimates Pulse, he finds himself fighting for survival once more. Snow x Hope, Fang x Vanille.
1. Chapter 1

_**Abyssus**_

_Summary:__ Three years post game. The heroes are all living separate lives on Pulse after the destruction of Orphan and the crystallisation of Cocoon, but when a massive explosion decimates over a hundred square miles of Gran Pulse with no explanation, the survivors are determined to find each other again, and discover the source of the new threat to the world. Fang x Vanille, eventual Snow x Hope. The POV will range between these four, for the most part._

_Warnings:__ Yuri and Yaoi. If that offends you, don't read this. I don't need flames from people just because I happen to be a fan of these pairing. Constructive criticism is lovely and appreciated, however! Contains character death. Lots of it. Violence, blood, torture. Again, if that isn't your cup of tea...well, don't read it!_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE.__ This fic's central romance, Snow x Hope, will be a slow-burner, and the story starts out with some heavy Snow x Serah. (Sorry to anyone who hates her – I happen not to) _

_So, for those who like to jump right into a pairing, this one isn't for you. However, if you like a more realistic approach to love and romance...read on! :)_

...

Chapter One – Burn

The constant noise of heavy machinery operating outside the window was becoming something of an irritation. Snow and Serah Villiers already had enough trouble getting little Nora to go to sleep, without this added racket. It seemed that every time the tiny baby finally dropped off, much to her young parents' exhausted relief, something would crash loudly at the latest construction site just down the road, and off she would go again, wailing in her crib and demanding attention. This would prompt long suffering sighs, and then a quick but fairly amicable argument as to who would go up and fuss her. Snow scowled out of the window, shutting it with a grunt of disapproval. Carting a quiet but very much awake Nora in one hand, and a half drunk glass of water in the other, he had to use his elbow, and ended up bashing it on the sill. He held back his curse, knowing Serah's infamous 'don't swear in front of the baby' lecture by rote, and having no wish to hear it again. She watched him, smiling, from the other side of the room, and he winked at her.

"Why don't you put the glass down?" She chuckled, walking the few steps across the room and relieving him of his handful of baby, cooing over the little girl with the mop of shaggy blonde hair that came straight from her father, and her bright blue eyes that belonged to her mother.

"Ah, because that would require the common sense I don't possess!" Snow laughed, leaning down to kiss her gently. "I wish they'd stop at a reasonable hour, though...I'm all for rebuilding Oerba, but sometimes, a quiet evening would be nice!" His beautiful wife's face crinkled into that gorgeous smile he'd fallen in love with, and she sighed. "It will all be finished, soon." She said softly. "I'd rather have a nice, fully functioning place for her to grow up in, than a half finished ruin of a settlement."

"True." Snow conceded. "Oh. Your sister called earlier. She said she was going to be away for a few days with a few new recruits, but that she'd be back in time for your twenty-first." He fluffed his wife's loose, slightly curly hair, ignoring her snort of annoyance and swat to the head. Lightning, who still insisted she go by that name, and not her given one, had joined the new branch of the army that had formed after the crystallisation of Cocoon, deciding that she was a born soldier, and that the lifestyle was the only one she could ever see herself leading. Thinking about Lightning led his thoughts to their other friends who'd fought so hard three years ago. Sazh and Dajh, now living just a few streets away from them, had settled into family life again, and during the day while Sazh, ever the technical genius, lent a hand with construction of the new city in Oerba, Dajh often came over to stay with them in their apartment. He and Serah got on like a house on fire, and the little boy was always fussing over Nora. He knew that Vanille and Fang still lay together, crystallised along with Cocoon, and the team often visited the site to reflect on their sacrifice and catch up with each other. Hope and his father had settled in Vallis Media, in a new town that was springing up among the deep wadis and canyons that framed the place.

Sometimes he found himself missing them. Missing the adventure he'd shared with them. He remembered telling Hope that his dream had been to settle down with Serah and have a family, and now he was there...it just felt a little empty. He missed the action, and being a body-for-hire just wasn't up to par with his previous lifestyle. However, it just took one glance over his shoulder at his wife and their daughter for the doubts to vanish. Serah was fussing Nora, and the little girl was giggling, fingers buried in his wife's long, dusty pink hair. He downed the rest of his water, having forgotten about it up until now, taking the empty glass out into the little kitchen and washing it up. He vaguely heard Serah putting Nora to bed, and hoped that the construction site, where the work continued long into the night hours, would be quiet long enough for the little girl to get some sleep. He idly did the rest of the dinner dishes, privately enjoying the domestic activity, despite his constant complaining about boring chores.

When he had finished, he returned to the living room window, staring out at Oerba with a slight smile. There were already several thousand people living comfortable lives here, and despite the fact that Pulse was still full of monsters, Cie'th and wild animals, the army was there to look after the people and ensure their lives were as safe as possible. He glanced down at the street, several floors below. It looked nothing like his home in Cocoon had, and for that, he supposed he was glad. Though he sometimes missed it, it was a reminder of everything they'd lost, and besides...he and Serah had a new life, here. He sighed, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the glass. The soft fabric of the curtains brushed against his face as his arm moved to rest against the wall next to the glass pane. This was how his wife found him several minutes later.

"She's sleeping." Her slender arms wound around him, and squeezed a little. Her hands were so small and dainty. "Hopefully she'll stay that way."

Snow nodded his agreement, moving over to the long couch, taking his wife with him. They lay curled together, flicking on the television. The only thing the current channel broadcast was news, the people of Oerba had not gone further than a news channel, yet, having more important things to do, and seeing no point in providing entertainment until everyone in the city was comfortable. He yawned, laying his head back against the couch, wriggling until he was comfotable. There was very little interesting going on in Pulse, at the moment. There never really was, which was good, it meant his life was kept fairly simple. It felt all too easy to simply drop off to sleep, his lover at his side.

He was woken again by a loud, echoing boom, followed by rumbles. "Wha..." It was a sound unlike any he'd ever heard before, and he blinked, sitting up. He forgot he wasn't in bed, rolling off the couch. Seconds later, Serah landed on top of him with a cry of surprise. Nora, from her nursery, began to wail loudly. "What was that?" Serah asked, eyes alight with anxiety. The rumbles were still ongoing, and a picture of the two of them on their wedding day fell off the mantelpiece. "Go see to Nora, I'll go take a look outside."

"Be careful..." She whispered, disappearing to calm their daughter. Snow stood slowly, unsteady on his feet. The glass in the windows was rattling, and the floor beneath him didn't feel particularly solid. He moved over to the window, throwing it open to look outside. The rumbling grew louder as he did. "What the..." Behind him, he could hear his wife murmuring to Nora, but he found he couldn't look away from what he could see out of the window. A bright white light flared in the distance, searing through the darkness and arching up into the sky. Below him, people were pouring onto the street, some crying out in fear, others standing, slack-jawed, pointing at the light. The rumbling grew louder still, and a feeling of foreboding crept up Snow's spine. He caught the eye of his next door neighbour, also leaning out of his window, then blinked and looked back at the eerie white light.

Abruptly, it exploded.

Snow could feel the air constricting around him as he cried out, flung away from the window seconds before a huge ball of flame rocketed through Oerba. The whole building groaned and creaked as the windows smashed, showering him with glass. He toppled into the wall, smashing his head, hard. He grunted. "S...Serah!" He cried, falling to the ground as the whole block of flats tilted forward and the front wall crumbled. A wave of heat slammed into him, and he let out a hoarse scream, sliding across the now almost forty-five degree floor. His head slammed once more into something solid, and he dimly registered a table leg in front of his eyes before his vision went black.

...

Hope listened from the doorway as his father talked business with one of his clients. The blonde man glanced up, and smiled a slight half smile in his direction before turning back to the other person in the room. The silver haired teenager hummed, moving off towards his bedroom. He lived in a fairly small dugout home set deep in the wall of one of the many canyons that made up Vallis Media, and as such, they used a large amount of false light in the back rooms. Luckily for him, his room had a view. High, thin rectangular windows gave him a panoramic outlook of the surrounding area, the natural beauty of the canyon made even more impressive by the feats of engineering that comprised the construction of Vallis – the newest city on Pulse, if his father had anything to say about it. He'd taken on development, and Hope had been surprised by the flair he showed when designing the project. The people who'd moved here were keen to help, and threw in their expertise wherever they could. There was a road that linked several of the other settlements together, and eventually, he knew, it reached Oerba, where most of his old friends had settled. What had taken them weeks to hike across now took barely half a day with a fast vehicle, and was mere hours in flight time. It was slightly annoying, knowing how long they'd meandered across the wilderness, scrapping with whatever monster had gotten in their way.

That he missed his old friends wasn't to say he hadn't gotten himself a decent group here. There was a rudimentary schooling system in operation, and his dad had sent him there, something the boy hadn't been overly impressed with. However, he'd found it easy to be around people his own age, although occasionally, exposed to the natures of the teenaged boys he encountered, he was embarrassed as he recalled what an idiot he must have come across to the older l'Cie three years previously.

He sat on the windowsill, staring out across the canyon. It was dusk, and the sky was streaked with gold and red. People still moved about on the street below him, and he watched them move between the large white stanchions that held up the parts of the buildings that jutted out away from the canyon walls. Vallis was a beautiful city, all glass and white marble, excavated from a nearby quarry. It had taken less than three years to build up, and they'd just moved into his current home, it having been completed just days before Hope's seventeenth birthday. He was proud of Vallis, as was his dad. He let out a sigh, watching the sun set, and wondering what the others were up to. He'd seen them all a few months previously, when they'd gone to visit the Cocoon crystal. They'd chosen it as a meeting place, of sorts, to honour Vanille and Fang. He rested his forehead against the window, thinking of Vanille, and how much they'd both changed on their flight from the fal'Cie and the Sanctum. He remembered their first meeting, and chuckled a little, embarrassed even now at how pathetic he'd seemed when she chose to take Snow's last gun and promised to protect him. Yes, they'd both changed, so much. And now she was crystallised deep in the core of Cocoon, along with Fang.

A rumble echoed through the valley. Hope didn't even flinch, he was used to this – Vallis sat atop a fault line, and little earthquakes were common. They never did damage, and weren't a serious threat. It was the shouting and screaming that got his attention. He frowned, glancing out of the window again. The people on the streets were pointing and screaming. Some had turned, and were beginning to run. "What...?" Hope craned his neck, trying to see. Through the encroaching darkness, a bright light was visible on the horizon, towards Oerba. "What is that?" He took a few steps backwards as more rumbles thundered through the valley. He threw open his window to call down to his dad, who'd gone outside when the screaming had started. "Dad?"

"Stay inside, Hope!" the man called back, quickly disappearing into the crowd. The silver haired boy leant out of the window, staring at the bright arc of light filling the sky in the distance. He felt somehow captivated by it, as though he couldn't tear his eyes away. The rumbles got more intense as the seconds ticked by, and one particularly vicious tremor flung him to the floor. These were not caused by deep earthquakes. He scrambled back onto his feet, horror gripping him when several stanchions holding up one of the buildings across the canyon broke, the building cracking and sliding several feet down the cliff. He could hear the supports under his very feet groaning as the ground shook beneath them. He gasped, staggering as the building swayed crazily, finally taking his eyes off the bright white light.

The second he did so, it exploded, and seconds later, a brutal shockwave ripped through Vallis, the metal stanchions attaching his home to the canyon wall tearing under the strain. He let out a gasp, and then a terrified cry as the whole place crumbled around him. He could feel the floor drop away from under his feet, and then, he was falling. The next few seconds were a blur, as heat flared all around him as he tumbled with the building. He could hear screaming, his shoulder slammed into something hard, and he cried out again, trying to grab onto something – anything – to stop his fall.

Darkness, as all the lights in the area went out. He could faintly hear something burning, and still, people screamed. Then, his fall was broken, finally, and his entire being exploded with pain. He screamed, shock permeating his system. He felt light headed, all of a sudden, and tried to call for his dad. Instead of words, a metallic tang filled his mouth, and he choked, spitting a mouthful of blood up, and only just turning his head to the side in time for it to land on the ground beside him and not on his face. After several minutes of just lying there, stricken, the pain began to centre around his stomach, and he forced his eyes open. Through a reddish haze he wasn't sure belonged to his own sight, or the post-explosive atmosphere, he could just make out a thick sliver of metal sticking up out of his stomach. It took several seconds to process this, before the horror of the reality struck him, and he realised he'd fallen on part of the broken stanchion.

He gripped the piece of metal, but there was at least a foot of it sticking up out of his stomach, and his body was in no position to attempt to manoeuvre him off it. He lay there in a daze for a long time, hazily aware that the screams were dying and fading. Finally, after what seemed like hours, all was silent around him. It felt a little desolate, and Hope's head was even more fuzzy, now. He was dimly aware that he was in pain, although it was slowly going numb. Not even when he'd been a l'Cie did he think he'd felt like this. Flashes of memory filtered through his numb mind, as he remembered some of the trials he and his friends had faced when they were l'Cie. He remembered first coming to Gran Pulse, and having a moment of despair when they were lost. Not even that matched the sudden hopelessness he felt now. Eventually, and almost gratefully, he lost consciousness.

...

Sobbing. That was the first thing he heard. Snow groaned, vision swimming in and out of focus. He tried to roll onto his side, and then he felt pain, white hot, shooting up his left side. A startled cry and a frustrated grunt later, he hauled himself up, staggering. The sobbing he could hear was coming from a woman, knelt on the floor a little way to his left. His first instinct was to go to her, but he'd hardly taken two steps when he caught sight of the apartment block he'd previously called his home. His heart shattered right there. It was a mess of twisted metal and rubble, and flames still licked at the sides of it. Apart from the sobbing woman, he couldn't see anyone. "Serah! SERAH!" He cried, running to the huge pile of rubble.

He assumed he'd been flung from the building when the wall had been ripped off, and thus had not been inside when the place had crumbled. But Serah, and the baby...they'd been in the nursery, the back room...

"SERAH!" He began to scramble over the rubble, not even sure which pile was which part of the block. He began to tug at big boulders and pieces of metal, slicing his hands to pieces. He ignored the searing pain in his left side as he frantically yanked at the pieces of his former home. "Serah!" His cries became more and more frantic. "No, Serah! Serah!" He dropped to his knees, slicing them both open, and buried his face in his bloody hands. How could she and Nora have survived that? How could anyone survive that? He had been lucky, he'd been thrown clear of the crumbling building. He ignored the smudges of blood on his face as he stood shakily, looking around him.

Then he saw them. Bodies. Hundreds of them, mangled limbs sticking up out of the twisted wreckage, which was not limited to his own apartment block. The whole of the newly built city was flattened, and burning. Smoke rose from the wreckage, straight up; there was no wind. Almost none of the bodies were recognisable as human, just twisted hunks of flesh poking out between the metal struts and brickwork. And the blood. There were splashes of it everywhere, great pools gathering under those poor smashed people who'd fallen too far to have survived. The smell of iron and death filled his nostrils as though he'd only just noticed it, and there was an eerie sort of calm, and silence, save for the continued soft sobbing of the survivor behind him, and the sound of his own laboured, panting breaths. "Oh...shit..." He couldn't help it, he fell to his knees again and threw up, a mixture of blood and bile, and whatever he'd eaten for dinner. He couldn't even remember. Tears and smoke-soot stained his face as he began to sob, anguish taking hold as images continued to flash through his head. Images of his beautiful wife, and their tiny little daughter. He vomited again, whole body trembling. He'd lost them. He'd lost _her_. Again. And for sure, this time. This time, there was not a shred of hope that she'd made it out. She'd never have even had time, it had happened so suddenly. He howled with pain and anguish, collapsing in the heap of rubble, anger and pain, numbness and shock taking hold.

He'd lost her.

...

_Well, there you have it, chapter one! :D_

_Now you can see why this romance will be a slow-burner. Snow was pretty obviously still in love with Serah when she died, and the first part of the story will explore how he copes with it, having now lost her for good. Don't worry, though. I'm a Snow x Hope fan through and through._

_I've never written Final Fantasy fanfiction I've published before...not even for 7 or 9, which I loved. So...congratulations, 13, you've inspired me with your pretty bishies and kick ass characters!_

_Next time: Snow snaps out of his misery and decides to tackle the onset of hopeless depression by trying to find out if his old gang are still alive._


	2. Chapter 2

_**Abyssus**_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks for the reviews, to those who posted them ^^ . I don't know how much of a following this pairing has, but apparently a few people must like it! They're all very much appreciated, thank you!_

...

Chapter Two – Return

Desolation. That was the feeling that was encompassing Snow as he sat amongst the remains of his former home. He could also feel disbelief, although the practical half of his mind that was, amazingly, still half-way functional, knew that this was no dream. He really was sat in the middle of a ruined city. Despair. That came, too, as his head filled once more with thoughts of his wife, buried goodness-knows how deep beneath the rubble. A dry sob. _Serah._ Looking around him, he could see very few signs of life. That same woman, still sobbing on the floor. A child crying somewhere to his left. Snow dimly registered that under any normal circumstance he would have gone to the child, whoever he or she was, but he didn't...he just...sat there. Processing. He was struggling to come to terms with the enormity of the destruction. Not a building in Oerba was still standing – he'd see it if it was, and great plumes of smoke still rose from the wrecked piles of rubble.

The rubble shifted behind him, and a thin cry joined that of the woman and child. Snow turned, hope springing up inside him. _That would be Serah. It had to be. She could survive this, she could survive anything._ He was certain that any second, his wife would fight her way out from under the rubble, Nora in hand. Maybe they would be scraped and bruised, but they'd be alive. Snow stood, and shakily scrambled over to where she was obviously trying to get out. He pulled back some of the rubble, only to recoil in horror when what he found was not his beautiful wife, but a man he didn't recognise, face half caved in on the left side, shoulder and arm mangled beyond recognition. Nausea welled up inside him and he staggered back, ignoring the man's thin, slurred cries for help. In a move he would regret for the rest of his life, he turned his back on the trapped man and stumbled off the pile of wreckage. Emotions welled up inside him, all hope for Serah's safe return dashed. Anger, that that man, whoever he was, had survived while his wife had not. That woman, that child...they were safe, but not Serah..._not Serah._ It was only then that he realised – he'd survived. Without her. He'd failed her, again. A howl of utter anguish caught in his throat, too dry now to scream properly. He suddenly found himself wishing he'd died with her and their daughter. "Why not me?" He cried hoarsely, turning his face towards the sky. "Why her? Why is it always her?" The last word petered out into a choking cry. He didn't know how long he stood there, agonised tears slipping down his cheeks, shoulders shaking silently, but it was the most normal, everyday occurrence that snapped him out of his daze.

His stomach rumbled.

Snow blinked. How could he be thinking about food at a time like this? He clenched his fists. His wife was dead, and yet...such a normal little thing could still happen. He finally opened his eyes, catching the faint light of dawn streaking the horizon. He'd been out all night, then. A sigh, and he swiped a hand over his face, streaking splotches of soot and blood across the back of his hand. He grimaced, knowing he looked absolutely terrible. All at once another wave of sorrow hit him, and he took a deep, shuddering breath. Now wasn't the time to be losing it all over again. He knew shoving all thoughts of Serah and the explosion to the back of his head was a stupid plan, he knew already what happened when you repressed your memories, but right at that moment, he decided he didn't care. He brushed himself off as best he could, worrying a little when he remembered he was wearing nothing but loose cargo pants and a black shirt. Both items of clothing were torn to shreds, and filthy, covered in blood, soot, and goodness knows what else. He pulled off his black bandana, still mercifully in one piece, and wiped his face with it, before wrapping it back around his head. He didn't even want to think about the state his pale blond hair was in.

He scrabbled around in his pocket for his phone, hoping it wasn't broken. He had to find out it anyone was still alive. Where had Lightning been when the explosion had occurred? Sazh's apartment block was flattened, he could see that from here, but had he and Dajh been in? And Hope, in Vallis Media...he wondered if the blast had taken the new city there out, too. Certainly, the epicentre of the explosion had been in that direction, but how far? He scowled at the little piece of technology as he finally fished it out of his pocket. The tiny little screen was smashed, and the whole thing was looking a little beaten up, but it appeared to be working. The first number he tried was Sazh's cell. He walked towards what was left of the dark skinned man's home as it connected, shaking, still, and heart sinking. All he got was a long beep of a dial tone, and he cursed. "SAZH!" He called out. "SAZH!"Here, he could no longer hear the woman wailing, and he was grateful for that for about three seconds, before realising that the silence was much worse. All he could hear was the crackling of the flames. Not even the fire sirens were going off anymore.

No sign of Sahz. He let out a moan. What the hell had happened? What was that explosion? Was someone responsible? The second that thought crossed his mind, a burning need for vengeance welled up inside him. Someone had to be responsible for it, it was by no stretch of the imagination a natural occurrence. He would find them, and they would pay. He was suddenly struck that he now felt like he knew exactly how Hope had felt after his mother died, and he had subsequently chosen to blame Snow for it. That thought made him glance at his phone again. He squinted past the cracks in the screen, scrolling down the contact menu to find Hope, and hitting 'call'. He could have danced when the thing actually connected him, and he heard the teenager's phone ringing on the other end. "Come on kid. Pick up. For the love of Pulse, pick up."

...

His phone was ringing. How irritating, he was tired, was it really time to get up, already? Hope groaned and went to roll over. As he did so, his entire body seared with sudden pain, and he gasped, eyes flying open. As he breathed raggedly for several seconds, slowly everything clicked into place. Explosion. House collapsing. Big steel pole – holy shit. How was he even still alive? Was he still alive? He had to be, his phone was ringing, which was taking him several seconds to process and understand. His head felt fuzzy, and his vision wasn't working properly, although he couldn't quite figure out why. Several seconds of confusion later, and his mind began to clear as desperation set in. Someone was calling him. If he answered, he could get them to come and help him. He forced his head sideways, ignoring the shooting pain that went up his spine as he did so. Where was his phone? He squinted; it lay on the floor next to him. It must have slipped out of his pocket when he landed, he was bloody lucky it was still in one piece. He tried to persuade his fingers to crawl towards it. He knew there was no chance he could bring it to his ear, his arm felt heavy, and was probably useless, but he could try and hit the 'connect call' button.

He willed whoever it was on the other end to hold on as he twisted his hand and pressed his thumb onto the familiar pad, crying out with relief as it stopped ringing and connected. After a few seconds of trying to persuade the words in his head to come out of his mouth, the disembodied voice on the other end called his name. "Hope? Hope! Are you there?" The deep, smooth voice was cracked and a little shaky, and the line was bad, but the sound was instantly recognisable.

"...S...Snow..." He forced out, hoping his pathetic attempt at speech could be heard on the other end.

"Thank the maker you picked up, kid, I was about to have an aneurism...are you okay?"

Hope felt like laughing at the tiny piece of plastic, metal and clever tech lying on the floor. He wasn't entirely sure he could rely on his mouth to spit out all the words he wanted to say, so he settled on something short and to the point. "Help...I...I can't...move..." The effort of saying that simple sentence had worn him out, and his vision swam again. "Snow...help..." He could feel panic rising up again as the enormity of his situation hit him. Snow was in Oerba, did the call mean that it had been hit, too? Oerba...it was miles away. Even if Snow did come to find him, would he even still be alive when he got here? He had no way of knowing how long the metal spike had been in him, he didn't know how long he'd been unconscious. What if something vital had been torn? He'd die. He didn't want to die! He let out a slightly hysterical sob, before he remembered he was supposed to be on the phone. He just caught the last part of Snow's reply to his plea for help. "...to get you. Hold on, okay? I'll be as fast as I can..." He felt himself blacking out again, and hastily shook his head from side to side, hissing at the agony this caused. He couldn't let himself fall asleep again. He might not wake up a second time.

...

Snow stared at his phone for a very long time as he cut off the call to Hope. He'd had to press the phone to his ear to hear what the boy had been saying, which told him that either he could hardly speak, or that his phone wasn't next to his ear. Maybe both. He worried his lower lip, turning back to where he knew Serah and Nora were buried. He should stay and dig them out. Give them a proper burial, and just...be certain. Then he shook himself with a snarl. No. He was a hero. Serah was dead, but Hope, Hope was alive. He was the one needing help. He knew exactly what his wife would say if she was stood next to him, and it wouldn't be 'scratch around in the rubble for bodies'. He began to head for the nearest hangar, where hopefully he could pick up a light aircraft. Hope was in Vallis, a day's drive in a fast truck, or a few hours to fly. The question was, was there a vehicle in Oerba left standing?

He didn't know, but what he was sure of was that he now had a purpose – he had to save Hope. If he hadn't been so obscenely worried about the boy, and how faint and lifeless his voice had sounded, he might have taken the time to enjoy the thought of being the hero again. His heart sank as he located the hangar, flattened like the rest of Oerba. What had he expected? He picked his way through the rubble, ignoring the now pounding ache in his shoulder and arm. Focus on Hope. That was all he had to do. Don't think about Serah. That became increasingly more difficult as he continued through the hangar and could make out pieces of various air machines, like the one he'd taken her to the fireworks on an age ago, back on Cocoon. Flashes of memory kept appearing, unwanted, in his head, and he had to remind himself again and again to stop thinking about her, about them. About little Nora. He almost threw up again just imagining what had happened when the building had collapsed. That train of thought had been a bad idea, as, suddenly, he was back there again, trapped in a memory of a crumbling building. He remembered stumbling and toppling over, and then nothing. He could hear Serah screaming. Had that happened? Had he heard her in his last waking moments before he'd been hurled from the building? Had she called his name, as this memory was so convincingly telling him?

When he snapped back to reality, he was on his hands and knees, breathing hard and fast. Unstoppable tears drizzled once more down his cheeks, and Snow wanted nothing more than to just curl up right there and forget it all. His memories were hazy. He wanted so badly to remember their last evening together, but all he could piece together was some blonde woman on the television, a flash of his wife's smile...and then the explosion and subsequent blackout. He shook himself with a growl of impatience. _Get a grip. Hope needs you._ He pushed himself wearily to his feet, and continued on, until he got to the very back of the hangar. There, blissfully, were several machines like the one he and Gadot had utilised when rescuing the group doomed to exile, of which, of course, Hope and Vanille had been a part. They must have been salvaged from Cocoon before the planet fell from the sky and was crystallised. They weren't in brilliant shape, and several had pieces blown off, or open wires, but as long as he could get one in the air, he didn't care. With clinical efficiency and as much haste as he could afford himself, he determined which one he felt was most likely to get him airborne, and let him stay there. He had to fiddle with the steering, slightly, as debris had at some point fallen on the controls and mashed them up a little.

It was only when he'd started the thing up and begun to hover did he realise how badly it was going to handle. Regardless, he'd picked it now, and Hope probably didn't have time for him to land and select another. At any rate, it would likely be just as bad. Determination obscuring almost every emotion he had, he directed the vehicle upwards and away from Oerba, pushing it until he was flying flat out. He knew where to head, he could see the silver sliver of road beneath him that wound away into the distance. If he hadn't been so tense, and aware that if the machine suddenly swung to the left, his arm would not be able to counteract it, and he would fall, he would have been able to relax. He'd always been good at flying.

The next hour passed by without much incident, save a sudden urge to veer away and hunt for the source of the explosion that Snow quickly squashed. He was hyperaware of the cold creeping into his bare forearms, at this height, and this time of year, he was freezing. His legs were cold, too, the rips in his cargo pants allowing the chilly wind to tear at his bare skin. He swore when he felt the stirrings of a slight squall, rain spattering down on him. The wind was driving it sideways into him, and he struggled to keep the machine flying forward.

He was so intent on the weather and the cold that he didn't see the projectile speeding towards him until it was almost too late. With a startled cry he hauled the steering and forced the vehicle to veer to the left, ignoring the stabbing pain in his wrist at the jerking movement. Whatever had been coming at him zoomed past, and Snow almost fell out of the transporter when he realised it had been a missile. Someone was firing at him? He scanned the ground, forcing the machine into a hover. He didn't need this, what on Pulse could be firing at a civilian transporter? He had to drop the vehicle several feet when a second missile flew towards him. This time, he stared down at where it had come from, and his heart constricted when he spotted several figures running across the plains. They were just visible through the rain, and were so obviously not Pulsian, he knew instinctively that whoever these people were, they had to have been responsible for the explosion. Not only that, they looked like they had the heavy machinery that might be capable of such a feat. Rage boiled up inside him, and he was tempted to fly straight at them and take as many out as possible, before going down fighting. The sensible voice in his head (which always sounded like one of the Farron sisters – which one it resembled most was variable.) told him that would be a stupendously bad plan.

Whoever these people were, they were armed, and firing shit at him. He could find out more about them at a later date, right now, he was a man on a mission. They could all go and screw themselves. He slammed on the engine again, and flew upwards, dodging another two projectiles shot at him by the figures gathered a hundred feet below by clinging on for dear life as he forced his machine into a barrel roll. The adrenalin rush he got from the rolling and hard turning he had to do to avoid being shot out of the sky was powering him forward, eclipsing the burning pain in his arm and shoulder, and the emotional trauma he knew he was suffering from following his wife's death. What might have been a grin passed over his face as he rolled to dodge yet another missile, and left the group in the dust. As he finally made it out of firing range, he turned back to look once more, and locked eyes with a tall man who'd just emerged from one of the newcomer's huge machines. He could just make him out: long dark hair and icy blue eyes, currently narrowed on him. He scowled right back. _Yeah, you'd better remember my face, bastard. _He crowed and turned once more, speeding on towards Vallis Media, swearing that when he'd picked up Hope, he'd return and find out who these people were, and what they thought they were doing blowing up half of Pulse.

...

"Guess the world just can't manage without us..."

She knew that voice. Vanille's eyes fluttered open, and her face broke into a manic grin when she realised who was bent over her, characteristic half smile in place. "Fang!" She cried, scrambling to her feet and throwing herself into her friend's arms. "We're back!" She could feel rain on her skin – a wonderful, tingling feeling after being asleep so long. As she and Fang embraced, she wondered how long they'd slept this time. Was this what their eternity together would be like, forever? Face buried in her friend's shoulder, she found herself hoping so. Vaguely, she wondered Lightning and the other ex l'Cie were still around. It would be nice to see them again, if they were. Fang finally let her go, and the pair took the time to look around. It was dawn, and Vanille recalled how much she'd always loved this time of day, the Pulsian sky shot through with different colours as the warm sun came up. Today, the horizon was dotted with clouds, and the drizzle tinted everything grey. It didn't matter, Pulse would always be beautiful to Oerba Dia Vanille. She looked up at Fang, whose eyes were on the still crystallised form of Cocoon rising behind them. The fallen planet was still magnificent in its stasis, held up by towering spires of crystal. Her hand found that of her older companion as they stood in silence.

"There's no brand." Fang murmured after a while, rubbing her bare right arm. "There's no fal'Cie...so what brought us back?"

"Who cares?" Vanille began to laugh, dancing off away from Cocoon. "Let's look around!"

"Vanille, wait! We should stay put until we figure out what's going on!" Fang dragged the younger girl back, hooking two fingers under her collar. She looked thoughtful as she looked herself up and down, and then did the same with Vanille. The younger, for her part, smiled crazily back at her counterpart, vaguely and carelessly noting that they had come back wearing the same clothes they had crystallised in. She couldn't quite bring herself to call what had happened outright death, despite the fact that both had known they were giving up their freedom, it was, after all, just a long sleep that followed a vicious transformation into Ragnarok, the destroyer. Fang finally spoke again, her voice coming across a little troubled. "I still feel like a l'Cie..."

"How do you mean?" Vanille cocked her head, frowing a little. She asked, but she thought she knew what Fang meant. She still felt the power she'd had before she and Fang had crystallised along with Cocoon pulsing through her body; the looming yet comforting presence of her eidolon Hecatoncheir and the faint buzz of her l'Cie magic. Her older companion was now staring into the distance, and didn't reply. Vanille poked her arm. "Pulse to Fang..." When the woman didn't respond, the younger followed her gaze. She gasped, hand flying to her mouth. Between her and the oncoming dawn was the wreckage of Oerba. That shouldn't have been a new sight, except that bright columns of flame and a haze of smoke lingered over the top of the flattened city. Her first thoughts were of Hope, who she knew she had been closest to out of all the ex l'Cie she'd given her freedom, and that of Fang, to save. Then her mind wandered to Sazh, and she wondered if this was too far into the future for them to still be around. She felt just as confused and helpless as the first time they were reincarnated on Cocoon, what felt like an age ago. Her heart sank as she surveyed the wreckage of what had to be the latest incarnation of her home city. "Do you think...that this is why we're back?" She murmured in a soft voice.

"Like I said, Vanille...the world just can't manage without us."

...

_Another Author's Note: I listened to a LOT of Two Steps from Hell writing this chapter. In fact, I could go as far to suggest that their music (which is awesome) has been a major inspiration for a lot of my work, including this. It's largely instrumental, atmospheric music, so it's very, VERY good to write to! I would recommend it to anyone :)_

_Next time: Snow finds Hope. That's...really spoiler enough. XD_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Abyssus**_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Again, thanks for the reviews!I love you all so dearly! 3 . I've only just introduced Fang and Vanille, but unfortunately they don't appear again until chapter four. This chapter focuses on Snow and Hope. Enjoy! :)_

...

Chapter Three – Live

Hope was only dimly aware of the rain on his face as he struggled to stay awake. He couldn't fathom how long he'd just lain there with a metal spike lodged in his stomach, as there was no hope of him managing to lift his arm to glance at his watch. Answering Snow's call had sapped whatever strength he had had left, and now, his arms felt like lead, and his eyelids felt heavy. He was sprawled oddly, not quite lying on his back, and tilted in such a way that his feet rested a little higher than his head. He could still move his legs, one outstretched and one curling back towards his body a little, which meant that he had not ruptured his spine and paralysed himself, but that was little comfort when one of his hands was still half clenching a thick metal strut that was slick with blood and a foot high. Just thinking about it made him want to throw up, which wouldn't have been a good plan – his mouth was already tasting awful, the iron metal flavour he knew to be blood coating his tongue and gums. His teeth felt strange, loose, as though he'd been clenching them, which he figured he probably had.

He made an involuntary sound that was half whimper, half cough, as another violent spasm rocked his body, sending searing jolts of pain from his stomach right up his spine. The jerking movements had started a little while back; he presumed they were due to the trauma his body was currently going through. He had no control over them, and every time one wracked his slender figure, he convulsed around the metal pinning him down, and pain would flair in his stomach. Not for the first time, he thought of his father. Where was he? Did he survive? Did he know that Hope was alive, just trapped in a heap of rubble? Everything was hazy, and quiet, and Hope could feel himself drifting off again. He felt his body tremble as he slipped into delirium, suddenly seeing obscure childhood memories flash before his eyes. He thought he could hear music, and something in his head was telling him he recognised the song as one the tiny toy above his crib used to play as it spun, casting pretty blue and yellow lights in gentle, looping patterns onto the walls and ceiling.

He could feel himself slipping back into unconsciousness, and he struggled, mentally, to stop himself. He knew he was dying, though the blood was prevented from escaping his body too drastically by the spike through his stomach, the injury was too severe, the trauma too much. His body, luckily, spasmed once more, breaking him out of his stupor with a sharp jerk of pain. He gasped for breath. Snow would come. He had to, he always had before. He tried once more to haul himself off the spike, only to move a few millimetres before falling back with a high-pitched cry. Movement was out. He really did just have to lie here and wait to be rescued.

...

Snow shook his head disbelievingly as he surveyed the wreckage that was Vallis City. There were a few people milling around, but they had the same vacant, purposeless stare that the few he'd seen wandering Oerba had. They must have lost everything. _Just like me._ He shook himself. _No. Not everything. There's still Hope. _He found no end of irony in the boy's name, as always. For someone whose name meant something so positive, the kid was extremely good at getting himself in trouble and being unable to get himself out of it. He had parked his ride some distance away, just in case those soldiers back on the plains were presuming to follow his trail, and now, he just had to find Hope's house. He assumed that's where the boy would be, not that he had any genuine idea where he might live. Sure, Serah had had Bartholomew Estheim's address, in her address book, but that was hardly an accessible commodity at this given moment. Thinking about Serah brought about another pang of loss, and he wondered if he would hurt this much forever, now. That was depressing. Shaking himself free once more of his depression, he turned his focus to finding Hope. He ended up just hollering the boy's name, although, if his condition had worsened any, the younger would hardly be able to reply.

"HOPE! C'MON, KID! HOPE!"

No reply. He hadn't exactly expected one, so he began to systematically search the rubble. All Hope had said was that he couldn't move. Was he trapped? Stuck? Worst case scenario, he was trapped under a pile of rubble. If that was the case, Snow's chances of finding him before he ran out of air were slim. A grimace as an unbidden image of that very occurrence popped into his head – sometimes he could murder his overactive imagination. "Hope!" He continued to call for the boy, over and over, ignoring the silent phantoms walking aimlessly around him. They were starting to creep him out. Occasionally he stumbled on loose wreckage, and tumbled to the ground, scraping himself up as he did so, and cursing. The adrenalin rush he'd gained from the flight out was swiftly ebbing away, and he became acutely aware that as midday came and went, exhaustion was beginning to creep through his battered body. Unless he had some sort of breakthrough soon, he would pass out.

It seemed like hours later that he finally caught a soft cry of his name, finally, in response to his desperate calling. "Hope!" He headed towards the sound of the boy's voice, shoving pieces of cracked marble and twisted, viciously sharp metal struts out of the way. He scanned the area, blue eyes desperate for a familiar flash of silver. "Hope! Keep talking to me, buddy..." This time there was no reply for several seconds, and Snow snarled in frustration. "HOPE!"

"Snow..."

His ears locked onto the sound, and he scrambled up and over another pile of wreckage, pointedly ignoring the twisted body that lay amongst it, and finally, he saw Hope, lying on the ground several feet away. It was only once he'd scrambled over to the boy and dropped down beside him that he realised the full extent of the reason the kid couldn't move. He'd fallen, hard, on a brutal steel spike, that was pinning him to the floor like a butterfly. The spike itself was hauntingly slick with the teenager's blood, and the boy was gripping the metal as though his life depended on it. In fact, his hand had most likely locked around the thing. He'd initially assumed that Hope was wearing a red shirt, but with a wave of nausea, he realised it was supposed to be white, it was just completely covered in blood. Ironically, the strut was what was now keeping him alive, preventing a lethal amount of blood from leaving the boy's body. He let out a deep breath. "Holy shit."

Hope's pale green eyes were so full of relief as they came to rest on him that the blond haired man had to smile reassuringly. The shaking teenager's face was streaked with tears, and he was tense, obviously in a great deal of pain. Snow gripped the younger boy's trembling hand. "It's alright. We'll get you sorted out." He quickly assessed the situation. Hope would have to be lifted clear of the spike, and then, almost immediately, he'd need both entry and exit wounds tightly bound to stop the blood flow. He'd need antibiotics, and as many potions as he could possibly force down the boy's neck. In other words, he would have to leave Hope alone again to go and find a med kit. The look on the boy's face when he voiced this almost broke him. "Don't...leave me..." The younger murmured, frightened. Snow felt his stomach twist with indecision. Maybe he could get Hope off this thing now, and take him with him to find a med kit? No. No, that was just idiocy. "Hope...listen to me." He said hoarsely. "I can't help you until I have the right kit. I promise I'll be back, okay?" He lifted the hand he was holding, noting the grimace of pain that flickered over the boy's face as he did so. Clutching it between both his bigger hands, he sighed. "I'll come back, and I'll get that thing out of you."

He waited for Hope's response, determined not to leave until the kid had given his consent. When he finally nodded, Snow burst into action, a new adrenalin kick borne from finally finding his young friend, and knowing that his life now depended completely upon the older man, giving him the strength to ignore his hunger and exhaustion. He scrambled back over the rubble, taking quick stock of the boy's location as he went in search of a medical kit. He wondered where the hell he was supposed to look. Surely Vallis had a hospital? He scrabbled around, and finally he had to stop and ask one of the vacant-eyed people roaming the streets. The one he picked was an older woman, sat silently on a step of a staircase that led to nowhere, it's destination a mystery, a pile of rubble. "Hey, you! Miss! Where was the hospital? I've got a seriously injured kid who needs help..."

Luckily, she looked up, and didn't just completely ignore him. She looked to be around fifty, and had deep circles around her eyes. "H...Hospital?" She murmured, blinking. She didn't look too injured, and Snow wondered where she'd been when the blast hit. A trembling finger pointed to her left. "Down there. S'just rubble now, but you might...might find some stuff..." She said faintly, eyes lowered. "Hope your friend survives..." She finished, mumbling, a couple of tears dripping down her cheeks. Snow would have liked to take five to comfort her, but he had more pressing matters to deal with. He thanked her, briefly touching her shoulder, then followed her directions. Several trips and embarrassing stumbles later, sure enough, he found the remains of a sign bearing the worldwide symbol that signalled 'hospital' half buried amongst the wreckage. He carefully picked his way around, eyes searching out a med pack of any description. He wanted potions, and bandages. That was it. Come on, they had to be here. Several minutes later, just as the faint stirrings of desperation were beginning to assault him, he found a first aid kit. It wasn't ideal, he would have liked to have found something a bit more substantial, but he'd left Hope alone for long enough. He wanted to sort the boy out, and get the hell away from Vallis.

Hope wasn't doing well when he got back. He was shaking, and his face was shining with sweat. Snow was almost certain he had a fever, which probably meant his injury was infected. This wasn't good news, he decided as he crouched beside the younger boy again. Working quickly, Snow leant over Hope, unlocked his hand from around the pole and lifted his arms, ignoring the squeak of pain the action caused. He got as low as he could, carefully avoiding the bloody spike, and manoeuvred the boy's arms around his neck. "Hold on, if you can, kid..." He instructed, arms sliding underneath the stark white teenager's knees and upper back. Hope trembled, obviously aware that this was about to become excruciatingly painful. "Ready? I'm going to lift you off." Mentally counting to three, and bracing his knees to ensure he could lift the boy completely clear in one go, he stood, keeping tight hold of Hope.

The younger's shriek of agony pierced his ears, and he reflexively tightened his grip in an attempt to comfort him. The poor boy continued to howl, clinging to his neck and writhing helplessly in Snow's grip. Hurriedly, the blond tore the soaked rags of Hope's shirt from his heaving chest, and set him down, holding his upper body off the floor with one arm, and tying a tight bandage straight around his abdomen with the other. He felt slightly ill as blood began to seep out of both Hope's stomach, and his lower back, coating his bare hand. How the spike hadn't just killed him outright he didn't know. The kid must have been determined to stay alive. He pulled the bandage tighter, prompting another heartbreaking scream of agony. _Pass out. Please, just pass out, kid. It'll be easier. _He grunted as he tied the first bandage off, then tied a second that looped up over the boy's shoulder, since there was a pretty nasty wound there, too. He must have hit it on something before he fell. Distantly, he realised the Hope had to have fallen quite a distance to impale himself the way he'd managed to. He glanced up, and grimaced. The remains of a house built into the side of the cliff stuck out forlornly, and furniture lay in shattered pieces around them.

Hope must have fallen fifty feet. How in the hell was he still alive?

Finally, and to his relief, Hope's entire body went limp in his arms. He could still hear laboured, panicky breathing, so he wasn't worried that the younger had lost consciousness. He continued to work diligently, ensuring that the bandages were stopping the blood flow. He winced, glancing at the boy's face, which was ghostly pale, silver hair plastered to his forehead.

Still. He convinced himself that just finding Hope alive was a good thing. Snow wasn't completely alone after all. He sighed and leant back on his knees once he was satisfied with his bandaging attempt. He could try to force a potion down Hope's throat now, but he would rather have the boy conscious and willing for that, so he'd let him sleep, for now. As he gingerly lifted Hope off the ground again and into his arms, he flinched a little as the younger stirred in his sleep and let out a muffled cry of pain. "Come on. Let's...I don't know, find somewhere out of the rain. And get some food. And blankets. And maybe some new clothes." Snow sighed. He wasn't going to get any sleep for a while yet.

He noted that Hope was lighter than he remembered, despite the fact that he was quite obviously taller than he had been the last time Snow had had to carry him anywhere. He assumed that was largely down to blood loss or something, he wasn't sure; it wasn't as though he was a trained medic. He could feel the boy shivering, and he rearranged him in his arms, loathe to force too much pressure on his back and stomach by having him curl up, but more inclined to share his admittedly limited body heat with the sleeping teenager. "Yeah. Definitely clothes." He'd left the bloodstained rag of an excuse for a shirt behind, and would have to find something to keep Hope warm. Picking his way through the rubble and shaking the rain from his hair every thirty seconds or so, he spotted the half-blocked entrance to what had to be some sort of cave or tunnel. Upon entry, he found the wrecked remains of an elevator carriage – he was in some sort of lift shaft. He had no concept of what Vallis had actually looked like before it had been reduced to rubble, but he imagined that the people here had done remarkably well in three years. He knew the whole city was the idea of Hope's father, Bartholomew, an ex Sanctum genius, and he wondered if the man was still alive.

Gently setting Hope on the filthy floor – not ideal, but it was the only option they had – he sighed, hoping the bandages would keep out further infection. He reminded himself to make sure the boy took some antibiotics as well as a potion, just to ensure that his body could fight off the virus. Shrugging out of his black shirt, which was a bit grungy by now, but would satisfy his purpose, he draped it over Hope's mostly bare upper body. He dithered over leaving him alone and asleep, but figured that no-one would disturb him, if they even came near the lift shaft, that was. Everyone was in the same position, anyway. Still, he'd try to be as quick as possible. He'd rather he be present when Hope eventually woke up, and besides, he had to keep an eye on the kid's condition. He was all too aware that Hope could still be in a lot of danger. The extent of the injury the steel spike had caused remained an unknown, and he wanted to be there if he suddenly needed medical attention. Snow felt his stomach drop. He definitely didn't want that to happen. He wasn't a doctor, and he could think of nothing worse than having to watch the kid die because he didn't know how to save him. Leaving Hope alone once more, he ventured back out into the rain, shrugging off the cold and flexing his aching arms in an effort to stop the freezing drops sting quite so much as they hit his bare torso.

He spent the next hour cursing and stumbling his way around what used to be Vallis City, locating anything and everything he thought he might need. A half collapsed doorway that led to a musty, dark space that contained a lot of screwed up and sooty clothes was his most fortuitous find, and he carefully went through the piles of charred rags to find the sturdiest, warmest, and most intact items of clothing he could. He wasn't bothered about size, or colour, at this point. Usually he was a bit of a girl about what he wore, but he figured this probably wasn't the time. He rolled up the bundle as tightly as he could, and hauled it up and under one arm. He would probably need some sort of bag or rucksack to carry everything in. He moved off, ignoring the pain in his shoulder that seemed to be increasing. He had yet to even glance at it, not sure he'd like what he'd see if he did. Continuing through Vallis and locating an upturned vending machine in the process, raiding the pile of snacks and shoving as much as he could carry into his pockets, he spent over an hour looking for blankets, and eventually retraced his steps back to the hospital to find some, which he also shoved under his arm. He picked up a second first aid kit while he was at it, although this one was missing half of its contents.

As he was walking back, having decided that enough was enough and that he needed to sit down and eat something, he kept a wary eye on his surroundings. He wasn't sure why he was so on edge; he seemed to be jumping at every little sound, and his eyes flickered back and forth suspiciously, as though he expected some new horror to unfold. Thankfully, Hope was still out for the count when he arrived back at the lift shaft. He dumped the bundle of stuff on the floor, threw on one of the shirts he'd acquired, and crouched beside the younger boy, checking him over. Satisfied that he was still breathing, he dithered over whether to wake him and let him eat something. Several moments later, he did, shaking the boy's shoulder gently. "Hope..."

...

Pale green eyes struggled to focus for a few seconds, before Hope's vision cleared. He blinked rapidly, a soft and slightly embarrassing whimper slipping from between his lips as pain bloomed in his stomach once more. Snow hovered over him, a weak smile on his face. "Hey, kid..." Hope acknowledged the greeting with a half-hearted nod, trying to move his arm. He was still struggling to breathe properly, and his situation worsened when his memories finally caught up with him, overwhelmingly. All those people who must have died when that bomb, or whatever it was, had gone off...he shook his head slightly and began to sob, completely and utterly at as loss as to what was going to happen now.

He soon found himself gathered up in Snow's embrace, and he clung to the older man like a lifeline, shoulders shaking as he gripped his shirt, pain, shock and confusion overpowering him. Snow seemed not to mind, and he rearranged Hope in his big arms, keeping him as uncurled as possible while hugging him to his taller frame. "It's alright...you're alive, I'm alive. That's something..." he was saying, but Hope pretty much ignored him. He'd never felt quite this helpless, he decided, shaking and crying in Snow's arms. He remembered clinging to his mother like this when he'd scraped himself up as a child, although this seemed an odd time to think about that sort of memory. A wave of regret washed over him as he suddenly missed her all over again. He felt tired. After several minutes, his uncontrollable tears finally slowed, and he relaxed a little. He let Snow force something cool and soothing down his sore throat, and lay him back down again, this time with something soft under his head. He mumbled his thanks, voice sounding stiff and cracked. It hurt to speak. Snow may have replied, he could certainly hear a buzzing that could have been the older man's voice, but he was losing consciousness once more. Gratefully, he sank into sleep once again, exhaustion numbing his head so much, he was pretty certain he wouldn't even dream.

...

_Another Author's Note: I don't know if it seems that Snow is coping just a little too well with Serah's death at this point, but I'd like to remind everyone, just in case, that his mind is currently 100% occupied. He has a purpose, and so it's easier for him to continue and block the thoughts of loss, pain and guilt. This is, as anyone who's played the game should know, an existing characteristic of Snow's._

_Next time: Snow continues to look after Hope, and tells him about Serah and the baby. Fang and Vanille reach Oerba, and discover that they haven't slept very long at all._


	4. Chapter 4

_**Abyssus**_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH, REALLY. Your response has been fantastic, I'm so glad you like it! More of Fang and Vanille in this chapter, which makes me happy. :)_

_...also, this one was a total pain to write. It's a good job I stay ahead of myself, or you'd have been waiting for ages for this chapter...it took WELL over a week to write, and I'm still not completely happy with it. :(_

_Oh well._

...

Chapter Four – Regret

For three days straight, Snow kept watch over the silver haired boy, who woke only once or twice, and for the most part, slept restlessly. The man had to admit, he was worried. Hope had consumed nothing but two potions he had forced down him in four days, and the speed at which he was losing weight was quite frankly alarming. He also had a fever, and Snow was having to keep a close eye on his temperature, and give him more or less blankets as it rose and fell. He had hardly left Hope alone, save for a few trips to find more food. He was quickly learning his way around the city, and was getting more and more reluctant to leave his re-acquired charge as he started to see more people. He didn't want to think the worst of the people of Vallis City, but he knew the sorts of things people were capable of when they were desperate, and with the amount of now valuable commodities he had gathered up lying in the lift shaft with Hope, he didn't want to have to trust in the conscience of strangers.

Currently he sat close to where Hope was sprawled awkwardly, probably putting strain on his injuries, but the man didn't really want to exacerbate the problem and try and move him into a more comfortable position. He shifted and moved over to the feverish teenager, on hands and knees, dithering over whether to uncurl him and try to settle him down. He sighed, carefully pulling Hope back onto his back, keeping his hands on the boy's shoulders. Snow scrutinised his pale, tight face and sighed, praying to whatever deity actually existed that he pulled himself through this. Both for his own selfish reasons – he couldn't stand the thought of being alone again, and for Hope himself. The boy was too young to die, and deserved more than this, to bleed to death in an abandoned lift shaft in a ruined city. "C'mon. Please. Get better." He took one of Hope's slightly damp hands in his own and squeezed gently, clasping it in his own and holding it there.

He was too tired to go out again; despite the fact that he knew he needed a wash, badly. He'd gone in the river at the bottom of the valley the day before yesterday, but it was hardly ideal, and he'd only been in five minutes before feeling guilty about leaving Hope on his own. When he'd returned, of course, the kid had been fine, albeit restless. He seemed to fare better when Snow was holding his hand, or touching his forehead, as though his company was helping the kid get better. Maybe it was. Surely someone had come up with some psycho babble to explain that subconscious need for contact? Snow soon decided that thinking about it made his brain hurt, and as such, it wasn't worth the effort. He tried to sleep, but was far too tense and jumpy, and couldn't even keep his eyes shut, let alone nod off for a nap. It probably wasn't a good sign.

...

Hope's fever broke just before dusk. He lay quietly for a time, noting the aches in his shoulders, spine and hips from having slept restlessly, not to mention the still burning pain in his stomach and lower back. He let out a hiss of disapproval, catching Snow's attention. The blond looked up from where he was sprawled against the wall next to him, and grinned. "Back in the land of the living?" Hope was a little startled by the intense relief that radiated from his old enemy turned friend. He noticed belatedly that Snow was holding his hand, and flushed a little.

"...I guess so..." He shifted uncomfortably and closed his eyes, turning away. He heard the man lean closer, and felt even more awkward as Snow looked him over, apparently assessing his injuries. There was a long pause. Hope wondered what the other was thinking. He'd always been impossible to read, despite his bravado and hero complex. Even when he'd hated the man, he'd never been able to discern what Snow was planning or what he was thinking. For instance, why was he here with Hope, instead of with Serah and the baby? Thinking of Nora made him think of his mother, the little girl's namesake. When Snow had called him and told him in a delighted voice what they'd chosen to name their daughter, both Hope and Bartholomew had been touched. He still remembered laughing along with the excited new father, as it had been impossible not to be affected by the sheer elation resonating through Snow's voice.

So where were they? Hope wasn't sure he wanted to think about it, knowing that Snow would never leave them alone, especially not after what had happened. He sighed. What _had_ happened...? Finally, he opened his eyes again, only to jump very slightly when he realised his companion was still hovering over him. "...Hope?"

"I..." There was another long pause. "You saved me. Again...thank you..." He mumbled, looking away. He knew Snow's opinion of him wasn't exactly stellar – he had been something of a whiny brat when they'd first met, after all, and first impressions mattered. It didn't appear that Snow was overly concerned about going out of his way to rescue Hope, as always, he was very good at keeping his word to Nora, and protecting her son. Hope did sometimes wonder if that was the only reason Snow always came to get him. He glanced back up as the man replied.

"No sweat. Here, take this and you'll be able to move around a bit more." Snow offered him a potion, which the younger boy gratefully took, despite needing help lifting it to his lips. He'd feel a bit stupid if he wasn't aware of how badly he was injured. The liquid instantly made him feel a little better, and a little more awake, and he once again thanked the older man, who responded by shoving pills and another bottle of what appeared to be medicinal liquid of some description into his hands. "What happened?" He finally asked after throwing the offerings down his neck, carefully pulling himself into a sitting position, his still shaking hand going to his stomach. The pain dulled – apparently Snow had given him painkillers, and, presumably, antibiotics of some form.

"You fell on a big metal spike."

"I know that part..." Hope replied, faint annoyance lacing his hoarse voice. "I mean...what happened? One minute everything was fine, and then..." He struggled to finish his sentence, sadness and confusion once again threatening to make him cry. Something he didn't particularly want to do again. At least in front of Snow. In response, the older shoved something into his hand. It was a packet of crisps. Hope blinked several times, before suddenly realising how hungry he was. He sighed. "You are a lifesaver..."

"That's 'hero', kid."

Hope cracked a very small smile. He ate slowly, thinking of his Dad. What had happened to him? He hardly dared hope that the man was still alive. Which made him an orphan, like Snow. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about this. Snow came to sit against the wall beside him, draping a heavy, slightly musty smelling blanket around his shoulders. "Hope...I don't know what happened. " The other was saying. "But I'm going to find out, and when I track down who's responsible...I'm going to kill them."

"...Not to sound like a total hypocrite or anything, but we both know how well that sort of plan goes..." Hope muttered, and suddenly, Snow was gripping his shoulders tightly. "I now know how you felt when you lost your mother." He ground out, and Hope felt his heart clench as he worked out what this meant, and what Snow was going to say. "Serah and the baby...they're gone. I want them back, kid, but they're gone, and I know who's responsible."

"What? Who?" Hope felt shock and horror permeating his entire system. Baby Nora. She was what, six months old? He had kept a picture of her...somewhere, one Snow had sent, of all three of them...he had never really known Serah, or Nora, but they were so important to Snow. Sorrow and pity for the man who'd lost his entire family welled up inside him.

"Strangers. Not from this world. Not from Pulse. I didn't recognise them." Snow's voice was strained, and his hands tightened on the younger's shoulders, prompting a hiss of disapproval. There was such strong anger and hatred in his eyes that Hope reeled back, pity replaced by sudden fear. "Let go of me!" He cried, frightened by the savage fury the older was displaying. He was terrifying when he was angry, and it didn't help that he was leant right over Hope, crushing his shoulders and scowling at him. He knew Snow wasn't angry at _him_, but he still made a very intimidating sight.

...

Snow realised that he'd scared Hope, and he let go and apologised remorsefully, touching the smaller boy's hair soothingly and stroking it the way he'd caressed Serah's hair whenever she was upset or afraid. The action didn't seem odd in any way, which was a little perplexing, but not something the man was prepared to concern himself with. "I'm sorry, kid. I didn't mean to scare you..." He knew he was pretty intimidating when he was angry, and he'd been holding Hope's shoulders in an almost crushing grip. He'd have to watch himself, and make sure his anger didn't get the better of him, especially around the younger boy, who was currently looking a lot like a frightened rabbit. "Don't do that..." He scowled, and Snow felt guilt tugging at him. Hope must have seen the guilty expression, as he punched the man's shoulder weakly. "Ah...don't worry about it. You're mad, I know the feeling."

"Not really an excuse, kid. 'Specially when you're injured like that."

"I don't need pity." Hope snapped straight away, and Snow winced. He'd forgotten how difficult the younger could be. "I'm not...ah, forget it." He growled, suddenly annoyed with him. "You're such a damn handful." He could be doing so much more on his own. Now that he'd saved the kid, he should be going after the bastards who'd killed his wife and daughter. When he stood, fear once again flared in Hope's eyes, and the boy grasped his arm. "Are you leaving? I'm sorry, please don't – "

"I'm not going anywhere, kid. Promised your mother, remember? I'm just going to go wash in the river. I need to do something normal or I'll freak out again." No. Of course he wouldn't leave, and it wasn't just because of his promise to Nora. Hope was his friend, and besides, they had to stick together. It was better that than try to go it alone, and especially with Hope so badly injured. Although hopefully the potions would take effect soon and heal him up. Realising he was coming across as brusque and irritable, he crouched again. "I won't leave you alone. I promise. We're a team now."

Hope didn't look overly convinced, but Snow needed some alone time, so he ruffled his hair and left, heading for the river at the bottom of Vallis. He was used to the sight of destruction by now, but he wasn't prepared to come face to face with the same soldiers he'd run across on the plains, and the second he saw one of them, hanging around on the street with a gun in his hand, he swore and ducked for shelter. They had followed him. Or were they just moving this way? Snow immediately thought of Hope, sitting on his own and totally unaware. Abandoning his idea of a bath, he held still, flattening himself in a crouch against a low piece of inner wall that still stood, having survived the blast. What were these newcomers after? His heartbeat was increasing, a mixture of anger, and a little tingle of fear. Who were they, that they could produce an explosion of that magnitude? And what did they want with what was left over of Pulse? It couldn't be the people, not after they'd so successfully eliminated a massive percentage. He thought to ring Hope, before realising that the boy's phone was still in his own pocket – he could feel it at his thigh. How frustrating. That was stupid and thoughtless of him...

Curiosity overcame his nervousness, and he chanced a look over his cover wall, peering out into the dust. Several of the soldiers were hanging around, and one was directing others to look for survivors. Up close, Snow could see that they were wearing navy blue, not the black he'd initially assumed, and they had coloured bands on their uniforms. He assumed the red bands on the one giving the orders marked some sort of seniority. They were helmeted, too, and Snow couldn't see their eyes or faces. The only part of them that was on show was their mouths, and he filed that information away as a weak spot for future reference. As the number of soldiers within his sight increased, he felt the same burning rage and horror that had been slowly eating away at him since Serah had died welling up once more, and he clenched his fists, suddenly ready to beat every one of them to a pulp. It wasn't until the sensible voice in his head reminded him that he wouldn't stand a chance, as injured as he was from his spectacular fall. He hadn't really thought about his own injuries, after chugging a couple of potions he'd felt alright, but now, he could imagine that that was largely due to adrenalin. The voice sounded suspiciously like his late wife, and he forced down another wave of regret. He shook his head, finally tearing his yes away from the uniformed soldiers.

He made a decision. Leave them to it for now, he and Hope had to leave, soon. Turning on his heel and slinking away, he held his breath and moved slowly until he was absolutely certain none of them could see him. Then he broke into a sprint, returning to the lift shaft, much to the surprise of his teenage charge.

"...I thought you were going down to the river?"

"Keep your voice down. There are soldiers outside. They attacked me on the way here, and I reckon they're responsible for the blast that took out Pulse. We have to go." The colour drained from Hope's face as Snow shoved as much as he could into a rucksack he'd scrounged from somewhere. The blonde haired man was cursing under his breath, and kept glancing at the entrance, expecting to see soldiers pouring in at any second. When the bag was full, he slung it on his back, tightening the straps, then, he knelt beside Hope and scooped him into his arms, knowing that walking just yet was out of the question. The younger blessedly didn't protest; instead he curled up and clutched at Snow's dark brown jacket. If he'd had the time, the elder would have found this sweet, but as it was, he wasn't really thinking about anything but getting out of Vallis. He ducked out of the lift shaft, noticing one or two people also making for the wilds out the back of the city. Maybe the survivors weren't as spacey as he thought. Glancing once more over his shoulder to check there was no-one in sight, he hurried away from the soldiers, ignoring the exhausted ache that was threatening to catch up with him. He realised he hadn't slept properly at all in four or five days...he was losing count. If he didn't slow down soon, he was going to collapse from exhaustion.

...

Fang surveyed the wreckage of Oerba, felling slightly sick. There was nothing left; the place was reduced to rubble. Both the crumbling, centuries old remains of the original city, and the new, modern buildings of its later reincarnation, were flattened. The wreckage was recent, maybe only a few days old. Until now, she and Vanille had been holed up out on the plains by Cocoon, choosing to enjoy their new existences together for a few days before trying to find out why they'd come back. Fang had thoroughly examined both of them for l'Cie brands, but there were none to be found, and no sign of any Fal'Cie. So what higher power was guiding them? They must be back for something...

"Vanille! Stay close. Don't wander where I can't see you, I've spent enough time looking for you as it is." Her younger companion bounced over, chirping a reply she didn't listen to. She'd learnt to be selective with which of Vanille's words she listened to. She wasn't trying to ignore the girl, but occasionally having to decipher what she was trying to say was...tough. The pair moved through the wreckage, trying to find something that would give them a date. Fang coughed as she jumped over yet another smoking pile of debris, smoke invading her lungs and choking her. "Fang! Fang, look!" The older woman blinked and glanced up to where Vanille was waving and jumping up and down. She clambered over to her. "What is it?"

"I found a newspaper – it's got some sort of date on it. It just says 'Sixty seventh day of the third year _P-PF_. What is P-PF?"

Fang took the ragged paper off her and scrutinised the odd dating system, brow slightly furrowed. "I don't know." She thought it through as Vanille hung off her arm. She absently stroked the girl's curly auburn hair as her eyes scanned the paper. No language changes, unlike last time...perhaps not so much time had passed after all? Third year...could that be three years after Cocoon fell from the sky?

"Ooh, I've got it! Post Planet Fall!" Fang stared at the ecstatic younger girl as she leapt up and down, clapping. Perhaps she needed to give Vanille more credit. Her guess made sense, if 'Planet Fall' was what the people who lived here called the crystallisation of Cocoon. Which was fair enough, Cocoon _did_ fall. They'd just stopped it hitting Pulse. "So..." She murmured, glancing at Vanille. "It's been what...three years?" Her companion shrugged and mumbled her agreement, frowning a little. Fang wondered what she was thinking about. She could always tell when Vanille was being serious and thoughtful – she went quiet and didn't bounce so much. She slowly wound an arm around the smaller girl and let her rest her auburn head on her chest, stroking her hair again. "What's wrong, Vanille..."

"They're gone. I can't feel them, and I don't want to think that they might not have survived." The younger replied, fingers fiddling with one of the fluffy animal tails hanging from Fang's belt. The dark haired woman sighed, tightening her hold. She didn't have to work out what Vanille meant this time. She knew. Pulse was in ruins. Who of their old gang had survived? At least when they were all l'Cie, they could sort of...feel each other's existence. Now, there was no way to tell if Lightning and the others were still alive. The companionship she had felt when she had travelled with all of them was missing, and she suddenly felt a pang of regret. "I guess...we have to try and find them. Maybe they're still here, somewhere. Either way, we have to find out what's done...this...to Pulse. We're back, for better or worse, and I want to know why." She stared out across Oerba, shaking her head. The smell was repulsive, rotting flesh and dust and smoke all mixed together in one sickening funk that invaded her nostrils and made her want to throw up. She could see hundreds upon thousands of bodies amongst the rubble – and nothing was alive. "What do you suppose happened?"

"I don't think I want to know, Fang..." Vanille's voice was shaking, and her head was buried in Fang's chest. Pretty soon, the damp patch on her clothes proved what the woman already suspected – Vanille was crying. She pulled the distressed girl into her arms and stroked her back. How long now had she been in love with the bouncy young ex l'Cie? Years. Technically, about five hundred of them. Everything she did was for Vanille, and her safety and happiness. The two of them were the only two survivors of a forgotten race, and this had forged an unwavering bond between them, for both had been desperately lonely since becoming Pulse l'Cie all that time ago, forced to leave their homeland and their clans and fulfil focuses they weren't sure they understood. She remembered telling Lightning that she'd tear down the sky to save Vanille. It was the Pulse-honest truth, and suddenly, she found herself missing the acerbic soldier, and she wondered faintly if she was still alive. Looking around, she could see _no one_ alive...scanning the landscape, she frowned as she saw something she found decidedly odd.

Letting go of Vanille, she approached the bodies that had been piled in the middle of what had presumably been a road at some point. The stench was overpowering, and Fang recoiled, eyes watering as she tried to get a closer look without throwing up. "Vanille...look..."

"I don't want to!"

"They've all been shot in the head." Disbelief. "This wasn't an accident, this was an attack...they must have survived the explosion only to be rounded up and shot like animals." Fang's disbelief was replaced by anger. After all they and the other l'Cie had sacrificed for these people, someone was intending to wipe them out.

"If only we could contact our friends..." Vanille was murmuring. "They can't...can't all be dead, surely..."

"It isn't looking good, is it?"

"What do we do now?" Vanille asked, desperation lacing her voice. "This must have been done by an expert, or an army! What are we supposed to do this time?" Fang sighed. She didn't know how to answer the younger, so she didn't, choosing to remain quiet and stride purposefully away from the pile of bodies. "There's no use hanging around in Oerba." She pointed to several sets of mud-churned footprints leading away from the city. "We'll follow these. They've got to lead to someone – survivor or attacker."

"Who would...do this?" Vanille murmured, clinging to Fang's hand and shaking slightly. She was normally very, very strong, but her distress was so painfully obvious that it hurt the older woman to see it. In all their travels, they'd never come across devastation like this. Keeping the younger close, she began to follow the tracks out of the city. When she found whoever had done this to the young colony of people living on her home planet, she would wipe them off the face of Pulse. A horrific idea came to her, then. What if they had already killed everyone? Would...she and Vanille be alone, again?

...

_Author's Note: I'm so into this fic at the moment. I'm still trying to keep a couple of chapters ahead of the posted ones (always good), writing like something possessed, and hopefully, updates will continue to be at regular (ish) intervals, depending on how far ahead of myself I stay. Also, I'm British. Just to clarify, so my spelling and some of the words won't quite match up with some of you. Hope you don't mind ^^_

_AGAIN. GO LISTEN TO TWO STEPS FROM HELL. AWESOME WRITING MUSIC._

_Next time: Snow and Hope attempt to leave Vallis, and Fang and Vanille head for the plains, only to run into the mysterious group that attacked Snow, getting into a bit of a scuffle in the process._


	5. Chapter 5

_**Abyssus**_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Running out of stuff to put here, but it kinda feels bare without something! Thanks again for your unwavering support. ^^_

...

Chapter Five – Flight

"Who do you suppose they are...?" Vanille murmured in a low voice as she and Fang crouched behind a large crop of rocks out on the plains. They had come about thirty miles or so, continuing their walk overnight, well used to long walks with little rest. Neither were tired, Vanille recognised the feeling from the first time they had broken out of crystal stasis – the long sleep had provided them with massive amounts of energy. Fang frowned a little, long nails scratching at the rock as she peered over. A group of people stood about fifty feet away, watching their surroundings and toting guns of some description. At this distance, Vanille couldn't tell if they were automatic rifles, or high powered machine guns. She shivered. They had not encountered firearms until they awoke on Cocoon, and she considered them barbaric and unnatural. Whoever these people were, guns appeared to be their primary weapons, something she and Fang has always deemed cowardly. Fang in particular, who was an extremely experienced close combat fighter, scorned the use of such spineless weapons.

"I don't know, kid. They don't look like any sort of soldier I've ever seen, either on Pulse, or on Cocoon." The older woman was studying them, eyes narrowed. "But I think we've found the people who executed all those civilians." A scowl. The tracks left by the troopers had led them to this point, and Vanille wondered why they'd stopped.

She frowned and glanced up at her counterpart. "Do you think?" She murmured.

"Yeah...maybe they even flattened the city. Or at least...they're with whoever did. They must be part of an army, maybe they've stopped to report to someone?" Vanille smiled. Fang had such a wonderfully analytical mind; she was so clever, and always seemed to know what was going on. She knew it wouldn't be long before the woman figured out exactly who these people were, what they wanted, and how they could best sort out whatever problem they'd presumably been woken up to deal with. She smiled faintly, her hand finding that of her companion. Fang shot her a quick nod and squeezed it. They'd always had each other, she thought, admiring the strength in her partner's arms as she held Vanille's hand. It sometimes seemed that they always would. She would be happy, too, as despite her fondness for all of her friends; it was Fang who kept her going, and Fang who her world revolved around.

She stood up again to peek at the group of soldiers. "We could approach them and ask them who they are..."

"Are you nuts, kid? They shot up a bunch of unarmed civilians back in Oerba, you think they're gonna let us get anywhere near them? Especially while you're clutching that thing." Fang nodded at Nirvana, the weapon she'd woken up lying next to. It was her best and favourite rod, the steel wires that flicked out of the end strong, sturdy, and if manipulated right, lethal. Her companion had her spear, too, but which incarnation, the younger girl wasn't sure. Fang's fingers twitched on her short orange skirt as she stood up, and the younger girl tutted. "You'll tug it down if you pull much harder." She admonished, glaring a little at the elder's nervousness. The nervousness she only displayed when she thought Vanille was in danger. The younger girl wondered just when Fang was going to get over herself and admit that she liked her companion at something of a deeper level than mere friendship, and tutted. It was getting very vexing, although there was no way Vanille would be the one to confess first. In her mind, being the younger and smaller meant that Fang should be the one to initiate the contact she knew they both desired.

Fang hissed. "Be careful, kid." She let go, scowling, her cheeks colouring a little, much to Vanille's delight. After a few seconds of appreciation, she turned her attention back to the soldiers. Her scrutiny was going well, until a few seconds later when one of them uttered a swift cry and called a command. "Civilians!" He yelled, surprising Vanille with the language. Somehow, she had assumed the strangers would be foreign, and would have a different language. It only made it more confusing. She squeaked and went to throw up her hands in defence. "Don't shoot!" She cried, and, for whatever reason, the group were momentarily confused, whether by her plea, her clothes, or her instant surrender. Fang jumped up. "Vanille, you idiot..." She hissed, grabbing the girl's arm. The jumpy soldiers reacted instantly, firing off a volley of shots. The sound made Vanille's ears ring, and she heard a curse from beside her as her friend was hit in the shoulder. Fang jumped up, ignoring the blood flying everywhere from the fresh wound in her arm, and deflected the bullets with her spear. Vanille went for Nirvana, and pressed herself against the rock, listening to her partner curse.

Seconds later, she'd steeled herself and made to run away, unsure as to whether she could face fighting all over again. The soldiers were well trained, and the second she stood and revealed herself again, they darted forward, firing off another volley. Fang was shouting for them to stop shooting, and at the same time, was deflecting their bullets back at them. Probably a confusing message to send.

More firing.

They were forced back, and Vanille lost sight of her partner in the confusion as they stumbled back, heavily on the defence and unable to get a shot in. She cursed her own idiocy. Come on, where was her fighting spirit? She ducked the shots, flattening herself to the ground, and twisting her head to find Fang. Had she been hit again? Fear bubbled up inside her; she couldn't bear the thought of losing her partner. No, Fang was fine. She lay a few feet away, behind a hummock of grassy earth. Uneasy relief filled her as she turned her attention back to the firing soldiers. "Hold your fire! Hold your fire!" Fang was shouting, clutching her double bladed spear tightly. Vanille scowled. "They're not gonna listen, Fang, we have to fight!"

"I don't fancy our chances." The elder hissed. "Unless...Vanille, can you hold them off long enough for me to call Bahamut?" Vanille nodded, hoping they'd been right about their l'Cie powers, and that they could still call on their summons. She took a deep breath. She was a fighter, and a survivor, she could take these idiots out. Besides. They were firing on her and Fang, and she could well imagine that they had been responsible for the explosion and the executions, like her companion had speculated. Letting the familiar wild fury boil up inside her, eyes narrowed, she jumped to her feet and clenched her hands around Nirvana. "You horrible, horrible people!" She screamed, thinking about those burning bodies, the flattened remains of the city they'd just left, and even worse, the blood covering Fang's arm and chest from the shot to her shoulder. "How dare you think this is okay?" She swung Nirvana, surprised at how easily the technique came back to her. She could see the soldiers' surprise, presumably, they'd never seen a weapon like this before. The six steel strings flew towards them, four of them catching their guns. Not bad, Vanille thought, pleased at how accomplished she had become with the strange weapon. Yanking it back, she successfully pulled three of the weapons from the soldiers' hands, all in the space of mere seconds.

Jumping forward, she snarled, swinging her weapon again, anger driving her forward. Shots rang out, but Vanille felt oddly empowered, and, running off sheer adrenalin, she jumped high into the air, feeling a little smug at the looks of bewilderment on their faces. Smashing the side of Nirvana into one of them, a man from the sound of his grunt, and kicking another, she fought like a wildcat. She wasn't exactly a match for the twelve of them she could count, however, and soon she felt a sharp pain in her left side, just above her stomach. Falling to her knees, she flung her rod up to protect her face, screwing up her green eyes. "Fang!" She cried, choking out her companion's name.

...

Bahamut flared to life, the summon symbol shooting high in the air. It had been Vanille's cry for help that had finally given Fang the surge of adrenalin she had needed. The summon immediately went into Gestalt mode, the winged beast flying up and up towards the cloudy sky, drawing the startled attention of the soldiers surrounding Vanille. Upon its descent, Fang leapt up to meet him, swinging herself onto his back, the familiar summon magic surrounding his form comforting her and making her feel safe. She'd always shared some sort of bond with the creature, as she knew the others had with their own. They existed to pull the l'Cie out of their despair. She and Bahamut flew towards Vanille, looping in the air. Fang's hair whipped about behind her, and her green eyes were fixated on the still-fighting girl trapped amongst the soldiers, a wild fury dancing within them. She couldn't have her summon fire on the soldiers, not while her companion was among them, but she could certainly shock them.

Helpfully, as the beast flew closer, Vanille leapt up as the troopers ducked, and Fang held out her right hand, the left still out of commission. Seizing Vanille's wrist, Fang hauled her up as Bahamut skimmed the ground before arching up again. With the younger girl sprawled out in front of her, Fang could relax. Turning Bahamut around, she had him fire on the group, without even thinking that she was now killing them in cold blood. Icy fury still filled her, and she watched with grim satisfaction as the dragon king's Sun Flare obliterated the dozen or so soldiers below them. They could have run, but Fang's blood boiled with rage and bloodlust, and she crowed victoriously as Bahamut skimmed the ground once more. "This is a much easier way to travel!" Vanille gasped out, clinging to Fang, adrenalin rushing through them both as the wind whipped past them.

"They...almost seemed to recognise us." She murmured after a while, glancing up at Fang. "Before they attacked, I mean. They seemed confused." The older woman still had her arm around Vanille, and squeezed, prompting a slight smile of appreciation. "Yes...only very briefly though. It could be nothing, Van, they were probably just surprised."

"Yes...I suppose...it's worth thinking about, though. I mean, if it really is the two of us, on our own...against them, and however many others invaded Pulse..." Fang could hear the sudden helplessness in her companion's voice as the younger realised what a hopeless position they were in. "We...need to know as much as we can find out about them." She finished with a sigh. Fang stroked her hair, as Bahamut landed, far enough away from the soldiers for them to be safe. She thanked the creature as they dismounted. "You did good, as always." Bahamut offered her a bow, before vanishing. She sighed. "Well, just you and me again, Van..." She kept an arm around her flame haired companion, leaning down to kiss her head. "I wish we could figure out how to contact the others...they can't all be dead..."

Vanille nodded. "I guess we just have to trust our instincts...it's always worked before. Come on. Let's go save the world again!" Fang smiled at the optimism in her words. It was a show, of course, likely for her benefit and not Vanille's, but it was a welcome gesture, all the same.

...

Frustration. Snow was tired, and his exhaustion was leading to stupid mistakes as they hurried out of Vallis. At one point, he stumbled and dropped Hope, almost having a heart attack in the process, thinking he'd just made everything a thousand times worse. However, the teenager impressed him by merely hissing in discomfort and picking himself painfully up off the floor. Apparently the potions were doing their job, as whilst he swayed a little and groaned with discomposure, he turned steely, determined green eyes on Snow and muttered, "I can walk."

The elder wanted to argue, but figured it would be pointless. He did, however, keep a tight grip on Hope's arm, stopping him from falling each time he stumbled. Having the injured young man walk alongside him slowed their progress, of course – after sustaining such a damaging wound, most people would be laid up for weeks. Snow was already aware that the human body was incredibly versatile, even when it had been bruised and battered. It was amazing what you could push yourself to do when your life was in danger. He presumed Hope wanted nothing more than to be lying in bed and recovering, but staying where they were wasn't an option, and if the kid wanted to walk instead of exacerbate Snow's own exhaustion, the blond wasn't going to complain.

That didn't mean he couldn't worry, mind. He felt a little foolish, fussing over the acerbic teenager like some sort of mother hen, but every time the boy stumbled, damn it if he didn't want to pick him up and carry him again. He had to keep reminding himself that Hope was almost an adult, now, and despite his slenderness and small stature, he was a tough kid who'd fought his way through a lot, and definitely didn't appreciate being coddled. A small smirk. At least, not anymore. He remembered with a touch of fondness how Hope had used to hide behind Vanille at any sign of danger, back when he'd first encountered the teenager. Now look at him. Taller, a good five feet five or six, now, with slightly longer hair, harder eyes and a stronger jaw. Snow noticed for the first time that the kid had swept some of his hair back into a short ponytail – it _had _grown – but had kept the bangs he'd gotten used to seeing. Hope had grown from a shy, childish boy into a handsome and apparently highly capable young man. Oddly, Snow felt a hint of pride.

They continued on, stopping once so that Snow could change the bandages on Hope's stomach, as they'd come loose. Hope was proving to be quite stoic about the whole affair, and it was with a pang of nervousness that the elder remembered what had happened the last time Hope had waited such a long time to let out all the stress he'd had building up inside him. That had been when the kid had damn near killed him. As irritating as it was to acknowledge, the Sanctum had saved his life back then, firing at Hope and preventing him from murdering the blond. To this day, he had been unable to figure out if the boy would really have done it. The thought scared him a little. There was no denying that Hope was an extremely passionate and driven kid, and he was glad they'd been able to set aside their differences. He didn't want him as an enemy, mostly because he actually_ liked_ the boy.

As the day waned, Snow became more aware of his hunger. He was losing weight, he could tell, he usually needed a lot of food to keep his large body healthy. Those snacks just weren't doing it, and besides, he had been forgetting to eat them anyway, concentrating more on looking after Hope as he recovered. The two were now almost supporting each other as they finally moved into a part of the valley that wasn't populated so much, and had more of the natural cover they'd enjoyed when they first came to Vallis Media three years ago. They'd barely covered nine miles, Hope had pointed out. They really were moving slowly. They soldiered on, and kept conversation to a minimum.

Eventually, exhaustion had them looking for somewhere to rest for the night. They didn't discuss watches, they were both far too tired to stay alert, they'd just have to hope for the best. They had covered the ground more or less in silence, so when Hope spoke, voice rough and dry-sounding, it made Snow jump. "There. The trees will be cover enough." He looked up to where the younger was pointing, a small copse a little way up the side of the mountain, and nodded his agreement. "It'll do." They clambered slowly up there, stumbling and tripping so often that if their situation hadn't been so dire, Snow would have found it funny. As the trees got closer and closer, Snow felt more and more optimistic, thinking of their inevitable pursuit, and the cover the trees would provide. Certainly, the copse looked very promising when they reached it, dark enough to provide safety and high enough so that they could see the valley stretching out beneath them, meaning that, at least when they were awake, they could keep an eye out for any pursuers. At this stage, all Snow knew was that these people were trying to kill them. He didn't know why, or on whose orders, and until they knew more, they couldn't allow themselves to be caught up in anything. For all the man's bravado, he didn't want to die. It was hard to be a hero when you were dead, and by the maker did he mean to avenge Serah and Nora before he went. Taking very little stock of their surroundings – Snow would look around tomorrow – they only went a little way inside the little wood before dropping their kit and collapsing on the ground. Not as safe as they could be, but at this point, Snow didn't care, and he didn't think Hope did, either.

They lay close together, covered by the dense trees making up the little copse. The ground was uncomfortable and sloped, but it felt good to rest. The sound of the gunshots was far off, now, and dulled by the forest around them. Other than that, and the odd animal making its presence known, the night was quiet. The rain had eased, and finally petered to nothing, leaving the smell of damp wood behind, a smell Snow was familiar with, and actually pretty fond of. It reminded him of days spent camping out in the trees surrounding the beach resort on Cocoon, with Serah. Another dull pang of loss. The ground was damp, but drying quickly, and the waterproof sheets Snow had picked up from the hospital were making this bearable. Hope was quiet next to him, one hand on his stomach.

"Do you want some pain killers?" He murmured, catching the dull hurt reflected in the boy's eyes. At the younger's nod, he sat up, fishing around in the rucksack for the first aid kit. Tossing Hope a packet of biscuits while he was at it, he pulled out the packed of standard-issue painkillers. They weren't perfect, but they'd take the edge off the pain he knew the poor kid was feeling. Watching the boy knock them back and shudder, he sighed. "You're pretty amazing, you know that?"

Hope blinked, caught off guard. "Hmm?"

"Eh. Nothing. Just thinking about your injury, is all." However vague an answer, it seemed to satisfy the younger, a good thing really, since Snow wasn't entirely sure why he'd voiced his opinion in the first place. Hope lay back down to try and sleep, waiting for the painkillers to work. Snow turned his attention back to the sky, just visible through the swaying tree branches, letting his mind wander and willing himself to sleep. The still of the night was almost comforting after the desperation and fear he'd been feeling since the explosion. He felt oddly calm, and detached from those events as he lay, stretched out, and wondered if this light-headed, disconnected feeling was normal. Maybe he had something post-trauma related. It wouldn't surprise him, a hell of a lot had changed in four days. He was dragged out of his thoughts when a dull shiver ran through him. The blanket over him wasn't that thick, and the night air was cool. At least, he supposed, there was no wind, or indeed rain. He glanced over at Hope, who was also still awake, and shivering. "Cold?"

"A bit."

"Come here, we'll share body heat." As casual and sensible as the suggestion was, Hope snorted, turning to face him. "No, thanks. I'll live."

Snow tutted and ignored him, pulling him close, sharing both the two blankets and their body heat more efficiently. "Quit whining. You know it makes sense." Several hissed protests later, Hope gave up trying to squirm away and went still, head resting on Snow's arm, half buried in the crook of his shoulder. The elder knew his arm would go dead soon, but he couldn't bring himself to care. His other arm remained around the younger, high enough not to aggravate his injuries, but still keeping him in place. It was too cold for this not to be a good idea, anyway. He waited until Hope's breathing had evened out, and he was certain he was asleep, before closing his own eyes and hoping that the trees would keep them safe until morning.

...

_Author's Note: So, yeah. First ever-so-slight Snow and Hope 'moment'. Thank my music. The tone of it dictates what goes on, and when the piece 'Frozen Moment' came on, the little scene in the forest worked its way into the chapter, despite not actually being in the plan. Maybe I'm too much of a fangirl. Yes, a tiny little snippet teaser...thing. _

_Anyway. Queenie is a happy girl. Still several chapters ahead, and the plot is still present. Hopefully I'm not wandering off in a random direction! I know you're all as confused about these invaders as Snow is, but everything will become clearer as the story unfolds. _

_One More Quick Note: updates will now, hopefully, come every SATURDAY, as opposed to every 6-8 days. Makes it easier for my brain to handle, and I guess for you to keep up with it? I know some of you have been having problems with the alert system (boo) so now you know :P. Unless something goes wrong, like I have to work extra hours or have a crazy week. (it happens in the summer – that's what comes of working in tourism)_

_Next time: Snow and Hope come across a few stray survivors, but end up briefly separated, and Vanille thinks about her relationship with Fang as she takes her turn on watch._


	6. Chapter 6

_**Abyssus**_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: And on we go with the next chapter. After the sugary bit of the last chapter, you'll all be disappointed to hear that Snow and Hope are separated in this one...sorry XD_

_People have been asking about Lightning and Sazh. You'll all find out what happens to them when I get to it! :P. Until then, I can't feasibly write them into the story...sorry! I love you all though, pleeease continue to be so awesomely patient! And er...review. :P_

...

Chapter Six – Stagger

Hope was woken early the following morning by stabbing pains in his lower back and stomach. He groaned, but lay still for a few minutes, still wrapped up in his companion's arms. Snow was snoring softly next to him, but he was warm, and comfortable, and Hope didn't really want to have to get up. After several moments however, the throbbing pain became too much, and he winced, painfully rolled over, and pushed himself slowly into a sitting position, reaching for the first aid kit. Snow's bigger hands beat him to it, and within seconds, the brawny man was unravelling his bandages to retie new ones, and feeding him painkillers and another potion, which Hope was quick to notice they were running short of. He bit back a gripe at the man for acting like a mother hen, secretly enjoying the caring attention. He was beginning to realise that looking after _him_ was what was keeping Snow going, keeping him occupied and giving him something to think about that wasn't his wife's death. Hope thought of Bartholomew. They hadn't been close until after his mother died, but in the three years they'd spent in Vallis, they'd grown very close. Hope refused to acknowledge that his once-hated father might be dead, despite the overwhelming evidence suggesting that this was indeed the case. They'd not seen him, and the street he'd been on when the explosion occurred had been covered by dust and rubble.

Regardless, he had Snow. He knew he shouldn't be relying on the man so much; he was hardly a safe anchor. Despite his enthusiasm and drive, the man was something of a loose cannon, and nothing if not dangerous. Still, Hope couldn't deny that he liked the older man, they had developed a strong relationship since they'd met, despite the initial few weeks, back when Hope had hated his guts. He allowed the older man to bind his stomach tightly as he clung to his shoulders, fingers tightening their hold as dull pain shot up his spine. Painkillers didn't stop everything, he supposed. "Thanks..." He muttered again when the man was done, easing himself to his feet and gingerly testing out how well he could walk. Better than yesterday, hopefully, he mused as he staggered and stumbled amongst the trees.

After they'd thrown a half assed excuse for breakfast down their necks, Snow and Hope picked their way through the trees, relieved when they found a small pool of what was hopefully clear, drinkable water. Hope explored a little bit, giving Snow a shout when he located the stream that was filling the pond. "Looks like it's come from up the mountain! Probably a spring!" He called back, crouching to stick his hand into the water. It was cold, and he squealed like a girl, immediately mentally kicking himself for doing so.

"You okay?"

He groaned again. Snow _would_ have heard him screech. "Ah...fine, just...slipped." He lied, sidling back down to the older man, who was filling up the empty water bottles he'd taken from the vending machine. Snow greeted him with a smile and helped him down the last bit, squeezing his hand slightly. "We should at least try to wash. Pulse only knows when we'll get another chance." He instructed, splashing his face. Hope watched him strip off his shirt and winced – the man had plenty of scrapes and bruises littering his well muscled chest. "Didn't you look after yourself? Idiot." He chastised, flinching as Snow leapt right into the freezing water. A second later, he felt a little better about his cry earlier on – the bigger man's bellow was loud enough to scare the birds from the trees.

"FUCK! It's cold!"

Hope burst out laughing, unable to stop himself despite everything that had happened in the last few days. It felt good to smile again. Ignoring Snow's embarrassed call for him to shut up, he watched his companion half heartedly splash around in the pool. "Are you coming in?" The brawny man asked eventually, in a gruff and slightly grumpy voice.

"Not on your life. I have bandages all over me. I'll wash later, when you aren't around to do something stupid. Like...push me in or something." Snow looked highly offended at the suggestion as he hauled himself back out of the water.

"Spoilsport." They shared an easy smile, and although Hope knew neither he nor Snow were in any way okay, physically or mentally, it was nice to be doing something so blessedly normal as bickering, that they were able to forget their situation for a few seconds and simply enjoy one another's company. Hope was trying desperately not to think about all the friends he might have lost. He had yet to see any of his school friends, and what of Lightning? Sazh, and his son? They had lived in Oerba, but Snow had come alone...

"Snow?"

"Hmm?" The older man was using a shirt to dry himself off, and Hope felt a familiar twinge of jealousy at how built he was. No matter how much exercise he did, his own body remained depressingly slender, although it had been with some satisfaction a few months previously that he had started to develop some sort of muscle tone.

"Do you...know what happened to the others? Lightning, and Sazh, I mean..."

"...No." Snow sat down heavily next to him, ignoring the disgruntled huff as his wet hair sprayed Hope with droplets of water. "I was looking for Sazh when I rang you, but I hadn't found him, and I kind of dropped everything to get to Vallis. Lightning wasn't even in Oerba at the time, but I can't get through to her on the phone at all. I just get a dial tone." Sadness, and unmistakable worry. Hope sighed, resting his chin on his arms and wincing slightly at the ripple of pain that shuddered up his spine as he leant forward. He hoped this would stop soon, not only was it stopping him being a useful member of this two man team, it was getting really annoying, now. They fell into silence, which Hope would curse himself for later, as it only made him think about what had happened. Would he never see his father again? What of all his school friends, and Lightning...and Dajh, he was just a little kid, was he really...?

This just led his thought train down an even darker road, as he thought of all the survivors from Cocoon who had just been so suddenly wiped out. He was, in retrospect, almost glad that he'd been carried from Vallis City half unconscious – he didn't even want to know how many bodies lay twisted and charred on the streets. He shivered and shifted closer to Snow, who must have been thinking much the same as he was – for he put his arm around the younger and squeezed a little. "I know, kid. Try not to think about it, hey?" Hope wondered how exactly he knew what he'd been thinking about, but decided to simply be grateful for it.

"Maybe we should just keep talking." He murmured, not liking the dark thoughts in his head.

...

Vanille was feeling sorry for herself. She had a fistful of maggots they'd found in a rotting tree on the plains mashed into the wound in her side, since they both lacked first aid kits and potions. She'd had to use this method a lot when they'd first become Pulse l'Cie, but that didn't mean she had to like it, and it didn't mean that she didn't complain loudly when Fang applied them to the bleeding injury. "They itch."

"Stop poking them, then." Fang snorted, rolling over and apparently, going straight back to sleep. The pair had elected to travel at night, to minimise the chance of being discovered. There were only so many times escape and evasion could be successful after all. Vanille glowered at her companion's back, continuing to fiddle with the squirming maggots. She could hear the calm, deep breathing that signified sleep, and smiled fondly, glad for Fang. She'd been concerned about the dark rings beginning to build under the dark haired woman's eyes – this was the first time she had slept since they'd woken from crystal stasis, despite Vanille taking a break at least twice a day. She sighed and glanced out across the plains from her peephole. They'd hollowed out some of the ground underneath a scrub bush to hole up in for the daylight hours just before dawn that morning. It wasn't ideal, but it was a half decent shelter, and neither woman was bothered by rain, which would, if it came, almost certainly seep through the holes in their leafy refuge.

Her thoughts wandered freely. She was as alert as ever, but she allowed herself a moment to reflect on Fang, and wonder when she would stop beating around the bush. Well. When would either of them? Vanille was perfectly well aware of Fang's feelings for her, as aware as she knew Fang was of her own. So what was keeping them apart? Necessity? Some long forgotten homophobia? No, that was just silly – sexuality had always been something of an open subject among the original inhabitants of Pulse, and the citizens were encouraged to find love wherever they wanted to, regardless of gender. She wondered if it had been that way on Cocoon. Probably not – the place always seemed to exist to be the chalk to Pulse's cheese. She remained still for a long time, sighing slightly and continuing to stare out across the plains, thinking, as usual, of Fang.

...

It was late in the day before Snow decided it was time to move on, after eating a ridiculously small amount that for some people might have been 'lunch', but for the brawny man didn't even deem a proper snack. He sighed. "We really can't stay here, nice as it is. We have to keep moving..."

"Why? What's the point? We don't have a map, or a plan, or even a sensible objective."

Snow wanted to whack the kid. He _knew_ they didn't have any of that, but the best thing for them right now was to keep moving, away from the oncoming soldiers, before they tried to work out what they would do in the long run. When he voiced this thought, he was met with a noncommittal shrug. He scowled. Sometimes Hope was so frustrating. It reminded him of how difficult he'd been when they'd first met, and whilst a part of him wanted to yell at the boy for being so pessimistic, the other part was scared he might get upset and leave the elder on his own. Snow didn't think he could handle being alone again. He reflexively reached out and grabbed Hope's arm. "It's alright..." He said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. "We'll sort this out. We have to. But right now, I really think we should keep moving."

"But..." The hopelessness in Hope's pale green eyes was depressing as he looked up at the blond man. "We're two people. They...must be a whole army, from what you were saying..."

"Hey. The Sanctum was a whole army, too, and that didn't stop us. Nothing can stop us. Not if we're determined to survive." Snow was desperate for the younger to understand. He knew what Hope was feeling, half of him wanted to curl up and wait for the soldiers to come and kill him, at least then he'd join Serah. But the other half...was born to survive. And damn it, that was what he'd do, at least until he'd gotten revenge for the destruction of his young family. Rage boiled up inside him again at the unfairness of it all, but he squashed it with a deep breath. Later. Anger could come later. He suddenly thought he was being remarkably calm about the whole situation... maybe he was in shock. Hope seemed to scrutinise him for a long time, so Snow, ever immature, stuck out his tongue. This brought the hint of a smile to the boy's face, and he sighed, tossing his silver head. "Fine. Mister Optimism. Let's keep moving." He said, using Snow's shoulder as a lever to get himself up. Snow found himself watching the younger's movement, presumably letting his mother hen instinct take over and make sure Hope was alright. His too-big pale blue shirt fluttered in the slight wind, exposing the bandages criss-crossing his flat stomach. Snow watched the slender teenager stretch, wincing, and caught his arm instinctively to stop him stumbling when it looked like he might.

"I'll be fine, you know..." Hope murmured distantly, smiling at him, hand resting on Snow's shoulder. The elder smirked.

"Yeah. I know."

The younger boy snorted softly, taking his hand off the other's shoulder. Snow stood, then, stretching himself. "Come on, let's take a hike." The other's grumble made him laugh, and he ruffled the boy's hair. "Don't whinge, half pint, gotta be done."

"Half pint? What am I, ten?" And that was it, they were off again, bickering as they left the little wood and continued along the valley. It was a little ominous that there was no-one around, Snow would have thought they'd have seen some more survivors, like they had back in Vallis City. Maybe they'd all been shot. His stomach dropped at the thought. No, he'd rather assume they were all just faster than him and Hope. They'd got away, they were fine. He contented himself with this thought as the pair lapsed into silence once more.

By dusk, they'd covered a little more ground than the day before, and Snow was feeling very pleased with himself. This time, they'd made the diplomatic decision to settle in a half flattened shack that Hope guessed was about thirty or so miles from Vallis City. It was a complete wreck, but part of it appeared to have a functioning roof, and that was what they needed – they'd only just dried off from the showers the previous day, and rain made for seriously miserable walking conditions. As they settled down on what looked to be a fairly dry patch of floor under loose roof tiles, he quickly saw to Hope's bandages, retying them and ignoring the boy's insistence that he could do it himself. Not only did Snow prefer to help him out, so that he could be sure it was done as well as it could be, it also gave him something to think about that wasn't Serah. He snorted when Hope called him a hypocrite for not letting him look over Snow's own various injuries, despite the fact that he knew they were numerous, and not getting any better. This started yet another argument, which raged for several minutes until it was abruptly cut off when Hope's hand covered his mouth. "What was that?"

"..." Snow blinked as Hope moved his hand away. "What was what?"

"Shut up and listen..."

"..." Silence for several minutes. Snow eventually shot the younger a quizzical look. "What did you – " His unfinished question was answered when rapid fire rang out, and someone screamed – a scream that abruptly gurgled and was cut off. Hope winced visibly, attempting to scramble to his feet, only for the older to grab his arm and yank him back down. Stomach churning, the blonde stood. "Let me go...I'll find out how far away they are." Ignoring the younger's glower and attempt to stop him; Snow ducked out from under their shelter and picked his way back down the hill, only to almost throw up when he watched two uniformed soldiers butcher a young woman lying sprawled on the floor – presumably the one they'd heard from back at their shelter. He couldn't help it. His hero complex refused to think of either himself, or his young and very defenceless companion at that precise moment, and launched himself out of the bushes with a snarl.

And absolutely no idea of what to do. He belatedly realised that his act of heroism would go grossly unappreciated – the poor girl was dead already, and his leap had only attracted the very attention they were trying so desperately to avoid. Hope would murder him, he thought briefly before smashing the first startled soldier's face in with a sharp blow from his fist. The second man's cry of alarm roused a hitherto unseen group of nearby soldiers, and warning bells rang in Snow's head. Shit. This had been such a friggin' bad plan. A shout went up, and all of a sudden, he was surrounded, and yet another group were moving up the hill. Panic. Rapid gunfire exploded near his face, and he ducked, trying to dodge around them, only to be met by yet another line of soldiers stood between him, and his young charge. Thinking about the moody little teenager was the trigger, and that was it, Snow flipped out.

Punching his way through the line of troopers, he let out a bellow of fury as he watched the soldiers pour into the wrecked house he and Hope had been in. Not only was he furious, he was downright terrified. There were a lot of them, and Hope was still injured. He would have no warning. He cursed and flattened one guy completely as he pelted back up the hill towards the shack, only to watch Hope dash out of it and disappear from sight.

Terror. He couldn't lose sight of the kid, they might never find each other. However, he was stuck, unable to go much further due to the number of soldiers currently firing their blasted guns at him. He was adept at dodging gunfire, he'd put up with a lot of it. He wasn't going to lie, the adrenalin rush this was giving him was spectacular, and he realised just how much he'd missed the action as he wrenched one man's gun from his hands and smashed him over the head with it, putting so much strength behind his swing that the helmet crumpled. As did the soldier. He felt a sadistic sense of satisfaction as he swung the weapon around, taking out as many as he could. Pain seared in his leg, and then again in his arm, and he started to run, adrenalin pushing him forwards as he tried to follow Hope. Where had the kid run off to?

... 

He couldn't think. How had they caught up so quickly, and where had they come from? How many were there, and where the bloody hell was Snow? Rapid fire rang out behind him, and Hope swore as he ducked the shots, trying to dart away. The shack they'd tried to take shelter in was now going to hinder him, as every exit was blocked by a man with a gun. Panicking at having lost sight of his companion, he hissed in displeasure as several navy-clothed soldiers surrounded him. "Oh, fantastic." He spat, knowing they were unlikely to spare him quarter. He ducked a spray of bullets with a cry of alarm, and his heart began to pound. What did he do now? There were loads of them, and he was completely on his own...

He thought fast. He'd been in worse situations, and he'd faced execution by shooting before. He needed to take a breath and calm down – although he suspected he didn't really have time for that. Bending down and scooping up a loose handful of earth, he flung it in one soldier's face, straight at the open mouthpiece, thanking the maker for small mercies, and his ability to throw shit at things and not miss. Not ideal, but it startled the man long enough for him to dodge past and start running, making for the front door. He heard someone shriek, and blinked. Had they shot at him while he'd been so close to their own people? He chanced a look behind him, and saw one of the soldiers writhing on the ground. His mind whirled as he realised he was right, they weren't sparing a care for each other in their desperation to kill him. What was so important about killing the citizens of Pulse that they would risk shooting each other? He didn't really stop to think about it as he ran, jumping over piles of rubble, ignoring the fierce pain that throbbed in his stomach and back at the strenuous movement. He felt one of the bullets skim so close it ripped his shirt, and his heart dropped. He was certain the next one would tear through his spine or smash into his heart or lungs, and he wondered how that would feel.

It didn't come, though, but the relief he felt from that was short lived as he darted around a corner only to come up against a sheer rock face. He cursed his lack of knowledge of Vallis Media – three years, and he'd hardly left the city – stupid, he thought now. Flattening his back against the wall, he clenched his fists as the soldiers chased him down. All he could see around him was the twisted remains of a small dwelling that looked like it had been there centuries. Perhaps a relic of the original Pulsian empire, it stood forlorn and empty. Hope jumped over a crumbling outer wall, looking for anything he might use as a weapon. Shots rang out behind him, and he flung himself to the floor, winding himself. His stomach seared with pain, and for one horrid second he thought he'd thrown himself on something sharp and made his wound even worse. However, there was hardly time to think about that as he scrabbled on the floor.

When he stood again, he was clutching in his cut up hands a thin piece of metal that had clearly been twisted off some sort of support strut at some point. He tried not to think about how similar it was to the piece he'd almost killed himself on. It was slippery in his hands, and smeared red.

He faced the soldiers, feeling a thin trail of blood trickle down his face from either the run or the fall, he wasn't sure. They levelled their weapons at him, as calm as executioners, and he gripped the piece of metal tightly. He'd done this before. The guns exploded and he reacted like lightning, using the metal to deflect the spray of ammunition, calling on long unused skills he remembered having as a l'Cie. He knew it wasn't good enough, and he felt one of the bullets skim his thigh. Pain flared, but it was nothing in comparison to what his stomach was currently doing, protesting all the violent movement. Hope darted forward, feeling his vision swim as exertion threatened to overwhelm him. The feeling made him pause, dangerously, and he heard fire blast out again, so close the sound made his ears ring.

...

_Author's note: That was a lovely easy going chapter to write, even if it got a little dark in places. Sorry about the cliffhanger, but on the upside, it promises some action in chapter seven? :-3 _

_I hope people like how I'm writing Hope (haha)...I've only just started to pull focus onto him, and I'm not nearly as comfortable writing him as I am writing Snow. How am I doing? I try to make him as 'teenagery' as possible – with the slight lack of attention span being one of the things I personally like most about my interpretation. Feedback, anyone? :) Speaking of feedback, please keep reviewing, they spur me on with my writing, I LOVE LOVE LOVE hearing from you all, they really do make my day. Doesn't take much to keep me happy, a quick few words about what you liked-didn't like-want to try and predict etc...anything! Love it all. Thanks so much!_

_Ahem. Chapters getting longer. XD._

_Next time: Hope fights back, and Snow feels that running away isn't always the cowardly option. Fang and Vanille fight their way over the plains._


	7. Chapter 7

_**Abyssus**_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: ...Don't you just love cliffhangers? Also, I'm aware this is late. Going through a bit of a rough patch at the moment, nothing serious, just general lethargy, I think... :(_

...

Chapter Seven – Fight On

It took only half a second for him to right his vision, and as it cleared, Hope leapt back with a gasp, hurling the sharp piece of metal from his left hand, ignoring the dull ache that stabbed him in the stomach as he did so. His back was healing much better, he put less strain on it on a daily basis, but this sort of activity wasn't exactly doing him any favours. He looked around desperately, trying to see where Snow had gotten to. He hadn't seen the man in several minutes, what if he – a gurgling cry drew his attention back to the fight – his weapon had just slashed the throat of the soldier he'd thrown it at. Brutal, but he'd killed a fair share of people in his short life to survive, and if Snow was right, and these people were the cause of the explosion, they deserved to die. He darted forward, ducking into a painful roll to avoid a spray of bullets. "Damn stomach..." He grunted, pausing to regain his equilibrium as his entire world spun, and pain blossomed in his lower body. Once certain he wasn't about to fall over, he retrieved his piece of metal, crying out as two more soldiers were suddenly on top of him. Swinging his weapon like a sword, he took them both out, slicing the chest of the first and burying the end of the spike into the other. He could hear ragged gasps being torn from his body as he shook. This was not good.

Straight away, more troopers poured through the hole in the wall, and he scrambled up, horribly aware that his hands were covered in blood, as was his weapon, making it slippery. He could use a real one. Or maybe he could alter this one to be more useful. The train of thought was cut off as bullets sailed through the air, and a large figure he recognised came hurtling past him. "Snow!" Hope called, jumping back and ducking behind an inner wall – half blown to smithereens.

"Ah, shit, there you are!" The man ducked down and joined him, grasping his arm and giving it a light squeeze, apparently relieved to see he wasn't dead.

Hope grimaced. "We can't stay here!" He flinched and pressed his back against the wall as more bullets smashed into the wall next to him. He was well aware that he was trembling with fright, he hadn't had to fight in years, and he was out of practice. Besides, he'd hardly been brilliant at it in the first place. And he only had to istimed one move, and he'd be dead. The thought made him clench his fists and snarl in fury. No, he had not survived everything so far to die now, from a bullet wound. His thigh hurt, and his stomach was in agony.

"Yeah, think I'm working that one out about now." The older man shouted from across the room, and Hope looked out in time to see Snow kicking one guy in the face and smashing his fist into his nose. There was a savage expression on his face when the blond spun around, jumping down to where Hope was and taking his hand. "We can't fight them in this state, we're both exhausted, and injured. Think you can run?"

"I'm going to have to, aren't I?" With that, Snow took off, kicking down the back door and running out into the sunlight. It blinded Hope, and the boy winced, tugged along behind the older man. He gripped Snow's hand tightly as the pair ran through the cleared valley, painfully aware that they were out in the open and vulnerable. They both stumbled, and the crackle of automatic gunfire rang out behind them. Miraculously, it appeared to miss them, a good thing, as Hope doubted either would survive another hit. He could see the blood coating Snow's clothes, and knew with a sick sort of horror that he'd been shot through more than once. How was he running? How was he even standing? It almost made him think that perhaps there was a chance they hadn't lost their l'Cie capabilities in their entirety – how else would Snow be able to keep up? For that matter, how else would Hope himself have recovered so quickly from so life threatening an injury? He didn't have time to mull these thoughts over as the ground shuddered underneath them.

...

Something whizzed past the pair, and Snow immediately recognised it as a similar projectile to the ones the soldiers had fired at him mid-flight, on his way to Vallis. That seemed like so long ago. He cursed as it hit the ground a little way ahead of them and exploded, throwing them both to the floor. Snow rolled on top of his younger companion and grunted as he was showered in dirt, shrapnel, and goodness knew what else. Great, so now they were firing missiles at the pair, too? It just seemed like massive overkill! Someone was really, really determined to destroy them. Hope shoved him. "Get off me you idiot, don't just lie there and wait to get..." The younger boy trailed off, eyes widening a little.

"What...?"

"We've got to get somewhere safe. Now." Hope didn't continue, tugging the older man up. Snow's head swam as, suddenly, he was the one being pulled along. He struggled to make sense of his surroundings, and almost immediately, this made him panic. He wasn't used to not being in total control, and this feeling was dangerous. He'd experienced it once or twice before, but couldn't place exactly where. His ears rang from the explosion, and smoke billowed around them as Hope stumbled along in front of him. Smoke. Smoke was a good thing, right? It meant the soldiers behind them couldn't see them. "Hope...?" He coughed, uncertain as to the reason behind the boy's sudden urgency.

"You're a freaking mess, Snow..." The boy howled back from in front of him as the noise – around him, or was it just in his head? – reached a new crescendo, the ringing in his ears making his head pound with its inexhaustible relentlessness. He stumbled for what must have been the hundredth time, almost dragging the smaller boy down with him. The blonde man's vision swam, and the colours seemed to run into each other and meld as he swayed, feeling nauseous. This wasn't like him at all, now, was it...

More noise, and a curse from in front of him, and very suddenly, he was thrown to one side, and boulders the size of himself began to rain down around him. Now what? What, was the whole valley crumbling in on them now, as well? Disorientated, he felt rather than heard Hope's desperation and insistence that he move. He obeyed the boy's hissed commands, not even sure what they were, but hopeful that his body would just continue without his frazzled brain to guide him. He could feel his young companion struggle with his weight, and attempted to stand on his own two feet when he realised he was in fact, being dragged along. A muffled groan followed by a vicious bout of hacking coughs, and it was several seconds before Snow realised the noises were his own. He panicked, stumbling sideways, relying on Hope to keep him moving and...balanced.

...

It wasn't half a struggle supporting Snow. He was still nearly twice Hope's size, if not in height, certainly by weight, and every time the older man stumbled, he would pull on Hope's already screaming muscles. The youngster kept moving up the valley, trying to find some sort of gulley or pass they could hide out in. Their situation was becoming more and more helpless, as their ruthless pursuers did their utmost to destroy them both. Why, though? What was the point? Hope tried desperately to work it out even as the noise behind them faded. He continued to scramble away, thankful for the smokescreen and rocky barrier the soldiers had unwittingly provided them with when they'd blown up enough of the cliff to send it tumbling down almost on top of them. Hopefully they'd assume the pair had been buried amongst the rubble, and not give chase. He didn't know what more the exhausted pair could do if they did follow.

Hope yelped, half collapsing onto Snow as the other sank to the floor. The elder had finally run out of energy, it seemed, and despite how close the soldiers probably were, part of Hope could no longer be bothered to force him into action again. Several times in their run, he'd had to chivvy the elder along with barked commands, and, as if in a daze, Snow had complied. He simply pulled the dead weight that was Snow's body into a fissure that seared the valley wall in half. It was easily big enough to accommodate them – probably too much so – he thought, it would be awfully obvious to anyone walking past that this was where they were. But...it couldn't be helped. They'd either recover here, or die here. Morbid, but with sick, terrified realisation – true.

Tired green eyes glanced around, and as his head followed, his neck throbbed painfully. He'd probably strained it. He didn't think there was a muscle in his body he hadn't pulled or strained, no bone that wasn't broken, fractured or bruised. He felt physically and emotionally drained, and nausea swelled in his stomach. With a cry, he dry heaved, before actually vomiting onto the ground. Enough was enough, surely. He wanted to cry, but realised that such an activity would be counterproductive. Common sense overruled panic, and it was with some degree of bitter anger that he remembered exactly who had taught him about being calm in desperate situations. He hoped Lightning was alive. She had always been a great source of strength to him, and if she was gone...he would bring these bastards down himself. His head swam, and once again his consciousness wavered, threatening to pull him under once more.

_Snow. Think of Snow._

He shook his head with a muffled groan as he opened his eyes and tried to focus on his motionless companion. Snow and Lightning. Snow needed his help, and Lightning had told him she believed in him. He had to trust her judgement. He had to, or he'd lose himself to utter despair. He hurt all over, but he was, at least, conscious, so he had to focus on his blond companion. The only movement he could detect was the rough, ragged rise and fall of the older man's chest, which was only slightly reassuring. As the boy tiredly pushed his hair from his face and tugged the now very squashed and beaten up rucksack out from underneath Snow, he fought the rising nausea as he rummaged around for the med kit, cursing when he found that it had come apart, and the bottom of the bag was littered with unrolled bandages and smashed bottles. A groan. Hope pulled out some of the pills from the bottom of the bag. There was no way for him to tell which ones were which. He knew the thin white ones were painkillers, Maker knew he'd taken enough of them in the last few days.

Frustrated, he flung the loose pills away, where they hit the valley wall and scattered. Hope plunged his hand back into the bag, only to cut it open on some of the loose shards of pill bottle glass. He cried out in frustration. This was ridiculous, not only was his head swimming and his eyes struggling to focus, he couldn't even get something out of a bag properly. He swayed on the spot, sucking clumsily on his cut finger. It occurred to him that his thigh was likely bleeding from where he'd been shot. Funny. How had he forgotten that? He glanced down, only for his head to swim even more at the sight that met him. Not as gruesome as a metal spike through his stomach, but torn flesh and steadily dripping blood was not a pretty sight to look at. Steeling himself and thanking the maker that it was only a flesh wound, he picked at the torn shreds of clothing around the injury, tugging them away from the sticky skin with yelps and winces. Ones he quickly muffled, terrified that they'd be discovered in their admittedly not particularly well thought out hiding spot.

He didn't think he even had the energy to stand up, let alone start fighting again.

...

Fang was utterly fed up of running into people who were trying to kill her. In their last incarnation, that was basically what she and Vanille had had to put up with right from the start, and it appeared that that was the case this time around too. And Fang was not amused. Turning her eyes skyward as she dispatched another hapless solider – a woman this time, by the sound of the choking scream – she groaned. "Would it kill you to give us a break? Just a little one?" From beside her, Vanille grabbed her arm.

"Lets go, Fang..." She murmured in that beautiful, musical voice of hers. Fang's frustration made itself known with a long-suffering sigh as she nodded. She tried not to think about the two dead women lying at her feet. Kill or be killed. Kill or be killed. Shaking her head, she and Vanille continued towards Vallis City, which, even from this distance, they could see was full of swarming soldiers. "We'll bypass it, right, Fang?" Vanille murmured. "We can't fight them all off down there."

"No. We'll head straight through to Vallis Media and up the valley there. As long as we're moving quickly, we can go straight past them, double back, and attempt to find out more with the relative cover of the valley. Out here, we're too in the open." And they left, heading up towards Vallis Media, an almost otherworldly silence descending upon them. There was little to say, after all, what with both of them being so preoccupied with their own thoughts, wondering why they were back, what it was for, and why someone was destroying the brand new incarnation of Pulse. Fang was well aware that Vanille's thoughts lingered on their friends from before, particularly Sazh and Hope...she'd always preferred Snow and Lightning, herself, but then, they were warriors, like her. They knew how to fight, and they knew how to risk their lives for the sake of others. She knew that all too well, she mused, glancing at Vanille, who was staring into space, although Fang was well aware that she was still on high alert. How the younger always managed to pull that dazed look off was utterly beyond her.

She found it excessively cute, however. And who was she kidding, she found Vanille cute in her entirety. This train of thought was cut off as quickly as it was idly reflected upon. She couldn't afford to hover over thoughts of Vanille, not when there was so much else to think of first. It was dangerous, and despite the fact that she was well aware the feelings were mutual, and that Vanille adored her a much as she adored the younger girl, they'd never had a spare moment to think about it together. Fang knew she probably needed to, but it wasn't something she was good at, and it wasn't as though Vanille would ever make the first move. Whilst she was sure of Vanille's feelings, she didn't think the younger was sure about Fang's. She never really paid enough attention. Unless she did, and – damnit she was back on this train of thought again. Luckily, Vanille herself shook it from Fang's mind when she spoke again.

"I wish we would find someone. Someone from Pulse." Her younger companion said softly, as they traversed the plains, keeping out of sight of the many patrols of soldiers. They were used to fighting, they both were, but the harsh reality of it was starting to sink into them both, and it wasn't a pleasant feeling. They were killers. They'd fought their way across the plains, destroying everything in their path for a goal they weren't even sure they knew. Fang shook these morbid thoughts from her head, focussing on moving forwards. They had to find out what was going on, neither were capable of just idly sitting by while innocent people were dying. Unless there was no-one left. It was a chilling thought, and it didn't help Fang's conscience justify their slaughter as she hoped it would.

Kill or be killed. Kill or be killed.

...

_Author's note: ...hard chapter to write. Sorry for the shortness – a part I ended up getting rid of took a chunk out of the word count, but it didn't fit very well, and the chapters are all planned out, so I couldn't really get away with writing more! Anyway, you've all been wonderful so far, despite the slow start. Thanks so much, don't forget to review! :P_

_Snow's part in this chapter was meant to be confusing. I was trying to convey his own utter bewilderment at that point, and ended up hunting down some good music to help me out. I hope it made a vague sort of sense. It was an addition I put in afterwards. Comments? :P_

_Next time: Snow finds he isn't as invincible as he thinks, and Fang and Vanille discover other survivors._


	8. Chapter 8

_**Abyssus**_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: SHHHH I am well aware this isn't Saturday. It isn't even close...I knew I'd be fail at this updating-once-a-week-on-the-same-day-for-ease thing. Oh well. I've had an increase in work hours, bit of an embuggerance to be sure, as it leaves little time for activities that fall under any other category than the 'keeping myself alive' one. Apologies, hopefully I'll be back on track soon. :)_

...

Chapter Eight – Poison

This was bad. This was very, very bad. Hope held half his torn shirt over his still-bleeding thigh, trying to ignore the pain in his stomach even as his vision swam, threatening unconsciousness. He grunted and shook his head. They had very few supplies again now, and he wasn't about to waste all the painkillers when he clearly wasn't the only one who needed them. Most of the supplies had been left behind in that damned shack. He wanted to blame Snow, but when the other was lying in a heap on the filthy ground, struggling to breathe, he found it hard to feel anything other than concern. The hand that wasn't pressing fabric to his thigh was carefully trying to pick pieces of...something...from the older man's shoulder, and swiping a by now very bloody antiseptic wipe across it. It didn't appear that Snow noticed every time sharp fingernails dug into him and yanked a piece of dirt or sharp rock out, but Hope was certainly aware, with a sick feeling in his stomach, that his fingertips were bright red with the other's blood. They were both in a markedly worse situation than they had been twenty four hours previously, and Snow was beginning to show signs of blood poisoning, likely contracted because of his damnable lack of concern for his own wellbeing.

This was not something Hope knew how to treat. If they even had correct treatment in this half-assed excuse for a med kit.

The boy cursed, pushing Snow onto his back. The man's eyes were closed, and his face was pale, but blotched with red patches, covered in a sheen of sweat. He panted as though feverish, and his body shook. It was alarming to watch this usually boundlessly strong man behave like this. "Snow?" Hope murmured timidly, shaking his shoulder with bloody fingers. The rest of his shirt, and most of Snow's, was wrapped around the two bullet wounds the soldiers had managed to see home, although the blood flow wasn't that effectively staunched. Hope wasn't strong enough to pull it tight, since he was hardly in the fittest condition himself. "Snow..." He tried again, digging his fingernails into the man's arm.

A groan, and blue eyes cracked open slowly, taking several seconds to focus. When he did see Hope, he attempted a grin. "Hey, kid. We still alive?"

"...I am." Hope grunted, pressing down on his thigh. "You've been out for ages."

"Where're...we?" Snow slurred, wincing. His eyes didn't make any move to look around, and they seemed unable to focus properly. "We safe?"

Hope huffed. "No. Don't be stupid." He hissed as he pulled the torn sleeve from his leg. It caught in the wound and half stuck to it, peeling away painfully. He tried to locate a part of the material that wasn't already bloody with little luck. He had used a lot of the bandages they had left on Snow, although he was worried that it was probably already too late – if Snow had something horrible like Septicaemia, no amount of bandages was going to save him now. Worry welled up inside him once more, a dual fear of both Snow dying, and him being left completely on his own. He watched the older man shift around a little, clearly trying not to reveal how much pain he was in. His fever was getting worse, and Hope was running out of water to force down his throat or soak the by now filthy cloth with to press to his forehead. He was aware that their positions had been starkly reversed, and whilst Snow had knowledge on how to look after someone with a fever, all Hope had to go on was the bits and pieces his fuzzy brain had picked up from being treated himself.

He wondered vaguely where he was getting this willpower from. Fatigue made him want to curl up and sleep, the dull ache in his stomach was progressing into a much sharper ache due to his failure to keep up his painkillers, his thigh throbbed where the bullet had grazed it, and his head was pounding. He was a mess, and it was only a matter of time before his body just gave up and he passed out. How he hadn't done so already was surprising. It was a feat of will he hadn't even known he had. Then again, someone had to watch Snow, and it wasn't like there was anyone else. Although, he did have a morbid sense that watching the older man wasn't achieving anything, and it wasn't like he was making any sort of decent watchdog. If he was completely honest, should the soldiers find them now, he'd probably just sit there and blink up at them. He doubted he would even be able to get to his feet before being gunned down.

It was so unfair...there was no chance of trying to talk to them, find out what they wanted...they were just destroying everything. It was a miracle none of the shots he or Snow had received had been fatal. Yet. And thank the maker for potions. He'd used them all up by now, more was the pity, but he knew they'd kept the pair alive up to this point. Could potions cure blood diseases? If was a pointless thought, they didn't have any, so he tried to force his heavy head to think of something else. Something he could distract himself with in an effort to stay awake.

...

"They don't look like soldiers..."

"That doesn't mean they're friendly, kid. You know that." Fang kept one hand on the younger girl's arm as they observed a small group of people pick their way across an open stretch of plains some two hundred feet ahead of them. Something must have upset the younger, as she shrugged Fang's arm off and let out a huff.

"I would have thought you'd finally tired of calling me 'kid'."

Fang considered this, turning a wicked grin on her counterpart. Vanille seemed to shrink at the sight of it, and the grin twitched a little wider. "But you are a kid, Van. Cute, sweet, little, and – "

"FANG!" Bright red blossomed on her cheeks, and the younger scowled. "Quit it." The older woman chuckled to herself, turning her eyes back to the group of strangers, who were now huddled together as though in conference. They could easily be survivors, fleeing from Oerba. Where would they go? There looked to be about a dozen of them, maybe a couple more. Mostly men, a couple of tired looking women, a single, silent child, and a baby, snuggled in the arms of one of the women. Fang watched them as the continued their slow trudge across the sprawling plains.

"They're survivors, they have to be!" Vanille grinned excitedly. "People who won't try and kill us!" Fang didn't bother to remind her that three years previously, these survivors were their enemies. It would do little good, and would probably just depress the poor girl. They could do with some good news. No...they could do with finding their friends. Fang knew they were alive. She couldn't let herself believe that they weren't. Lightning, her stoicism and short temper, Snow, his brash optimism and hero complex, Sazh, his calm demeanour and presence of mind, and Hope, how he'd matured and grown, his determination. She missed them all, and she knew Vanille did, too.

Speaking of Vanille...Fang cursed as her younger companion leapt to her feet and bounded out, waving her arms like a lunatic and shrieking "Hey! Heee-ey! Wait up!" The older woman groaned aloud. Caution. Did Vanille even know the meaning of the word? Reluctantly she stood, following her charge out into the open, scowling. The group of people, startled, looked up in alarm, relaxing when they only saw two young women. Typical males, thinking they were no threat because they were two girls. She'd always hated men, Fang mused to herself. It said a lot about her, actually, and the relationship she had with Vanille. Ah, well, that was a train of thought more suited to another time and place.

The small, ragged group were eying them warily as Vanille approached with her usual cheerful smile and wave. "We're from Oerba too..." She called as she reached them, Fang following moodily behind. She almost thought they might recognise the pair – after all, their faces were quite well known back before Planet Fall. However, whether due to exhaustion, desperation or just plain ignorance, they went undetected, and the biggest and brawniest man among them stepped forward to greet them. Straight away, he set Fang on edge just by looking Vanille over in a way that might have been suggestive. Ha. She'd rip out his eyes before he got anywhere. In fact, she rather hoped he'd try.

"I'm Vanille, and this is Fang." She was chirping, smiling at the few women and children hanging around the edge of the dozen-strong party. She looked happy – Fang guessed she was delighted to find survivors. This...this meant that there was a chance, a small chance, that their friends were still alive. Fang turned her eyes north, to Vallis Media, where they were headed. Presumably the group were following the same path. We're coming, she thought to herself. We'll find you. She let her mind drift as Vanille attempted to convince the suspicious group that they were on the same side. She tuned out the rumbling voice of their apparent leader, not really caring what she had to say. She sort of wished they'd hurry up and finish their conversation, so she and Vanille could get on with it. It wasn't until she heard the stranger say "Of course you can tag along, can't leave a little girl like you out with these aliens running around."

"What?" She snapped, galled. Who was he to presume Vanille needed protecting? And what did he mean 'you can stay'? Vanille just grinned at her. "It'll be safer in a big group." She nodded, fiery hair bouncing around her shoulders. Fang glowered at her, willing her to interpret her death glare appropriately. Of course, it was futile, and the sunny smile didn't even waver. Fang grumbled. "Fine. But only until we find our friends." She scowled, swinging her staff over her back. She took great satisfaction in the way the group eyed this action warily. Let them think she was scary. That was how she liked it. It was with some trepidation that she set off again, tagging behind Vanille and the straggler survivors from Oerba. She noted how thin and tired they all looked, and felt a shadow of remorse at how badly she'd thought of them all. Vanille seemed to raise their spirits with her endless bounciness, so she let it slide that they were slowed down by the rabble, and resigned herself to just getting on with moving north.

Inevitably, they were spotted some three miles later, and Fang couldn't hide her dismay as the group panicked instantly, turning on their heels and running. The warrior sighed and surged forward, battle stance coming to her so naturally by now, her staff was like an extension of her own body. She sensed Vanille at her side, and barely heard the frantic calls of the survivors behind them. She had hoped that maybe they could hold their own, the men, perhaps. But no, damn them. They were scared, and she supposed they had every right to be. Letting out a yell at the unfairness of it all, she leapt at one of the oncoming soldiers who had the nerve to fire that useless gun at her. It must be a search picket, there were only seven or eight of them – and not for the first time she wondered how many people whoever was controlling them had at their disposal. Snarling, she fought for herself, for Vanille, and for that ragtag bunch of terrified people, already driven from their homes and grieving for their families. This time, she'd hold one. She'd get one alive and demand to know what was going on. Ducking a spray of bullets, feeling them pass so close to her scalp that heat flared there and her hair stood on end, she swung her weapon and felt it come apart in her hands. Wielding the two sections of the beautiful staff, she cut and wove between the soldiers, barely noticing the scrapes and scratches she received when she misjudged a move.

She held no fear for Vanille. Not anymore, she knew how well the younger could handle herself, especially if she was wildly angry. Which, undoubtedly, she would be. Felling another soldier, a woman by the pitch of the scream, she called for Vanille to kill everyone, and leave no witnesses. Confident her companion could deal with the two or three that still remained, she straddled the coughing woman she'd just cut down, and snarled, pressing her spear end to the woman's throat. "Who are you working for? Why are you destroying my home?"

No answer, and Fang tore off the blue and white helmet with another snarl of fury. Absently, she noted that the woman underneath her was barely a woman at all. A girl, young like Vanille, with blonde curls and a pretty, heart shaped face. Ignoring this, she pressed down with her spear. "Tell me. NOW!"

The girl began to laugh. Wrong footed, Fang frowned, leaning back a little, unnerved. The blonde smirked up at her, blood bubbling past her lips and trickling down her chin. Fang's blood ran cold at her following words, if only because the voice that spoke them was ice cold and mocking.

" You have no idea what's coming..."

More than anything else, it was the accent that froze Fang completely. Her eyes widened as she looked up at an equally confused Vanille. The redhead shook her head slowly. "It can't be..." She murmured, voice wavering a little. Fang clenched her fist around the spear, and plunged it directly into the woman's chest, eyes blank. The blonde screeched and convulsed, dark brown eyes bulging and blood painting her lips.

Standing up, Fang shivered despite the mild conditions. Fresh blood was splashed on her chest, and she could feel the spike of pain blossoming in little cuts scattered across her body. However, that all faded away, paling in comparison to the enormity of what she thought she'd just heard. That accent. It was Pulsian. Old Pulsian.

Her Pulsian.

...

Snow's condition had worsened. Hope vaguely remembered, from some biology-related something in his past – a school lesson, or something like that – that Septic shock, which he was now pretty certain the older man had, killed in days if left untreated. Snow was showing every sign of having the disease, he'd been dry-retching for hours, his skin was blotchy and inflamed, and every time Hope pressed his hand to the man's chest, his heart was beating wildly, erratically. He didn't make for a pretty sight, but Hope had decided quite some time ago that nothing on Pulse would convince him to leave the elder's side. Not that he could if he wanted to, he'd probably make it about four feet before collapsing...but the thought was there, at any rate. He tried not to think about the disease that was killing his friend, but it was difficult. He knew that, left like this, the disease would soon cause organ dysfunctions as the infection spread. It would kill Snow. The best Hope had to wish for was that he was wrong, and Snow was just feverish. It was something of a forlorn hope, and the boy squeezed the clammy hand he was holding gently. "Stay with me, Snow. Please. Don't die." He hated how childish and pitiful he sounded. But he didn't want to be left alone. He didn't want to have to cope with yet another death. Snow saved his life, and now he was going to die, and Hope didn't know why, or anything about who was behind it.

A morbid thought occurred to him then. What if Snow wanted to die? He'd lost Serah after all, what if he'd already given up? Hope tried to convince himself that that wasn't the case, Snow would want revenge, just as the younger had after his mother was killed...but it was increasingly difficult as Snow's condition worsened. His breathing was all wrong, and he'd lost consciousness again a little while back. He shivered uncontrollably, and Hope had nothing to cover him with. Instead, despite the fact that he smelled bad (although Hope knew he probably wasn't any better), and was slick with sweat and maker knew what else, the younger boy curled up next to him to share his own limited body heat. If Snow was going to die, well, then, Hope would go right along with him. Not only did he absolutely never want to be alone again, after spending hours stuck like a captive butterfly on a steel spike, he knew there was no way in hell he'd make it on his own. Snow wasn't only a protector and a friend; he was a source of comfort and always had a way of bringing a smile to his face when morale was low.

He could feel his entire body rejoice that he'd finally decided to lie down. His eyes felt heavy, and his previous resolve to stay awake was dwindling. He hurt all over, and sleep promised reprieve from the aches and pains he was becoming increasingly aware of. He'd not had painkillers now for almost half a day, and it was getting to the stage where _Maker_ did his body know about it. He sighed. Maybe sleep wouldn't be so bad. At least then he wouldn't know about it if they got shot and killed. His eyes fluttered shut of their own accord, and with his head once again half pillowed on Snow, and his hand gripping the man's shirt with increasing desperation, he fell asleep.

...

_Author's note: ...running out of stuff to randomly put here, too. Oh well, thanks for reading! :P _

_...I have begun to realise I am a lot better at writing introspection than I am at writing action. XD_

_Next time: Snow's condition deteriorates, leaving Hope in a very morbid mood, Fang wants to leave the band of survivors they ran into to fend for themselves, causing an argument. _

_...And something vaguely plot-shaped happens._


	9. Chapter 9

_**Abyssus**_

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: If any of you are still reading this, may I offer my most sincere apologies for the HUGE hiatus I took...I won't bombard you with excuses, it was just too much university work too quickly. However. I have just passed my degree completely, and apart from work, I have no commitments this summer. HOPEFULLY. That means that Abyssus will soon be back on track. I still have the plot plan somewhere on my computer, yes, the story is going somewhere._

_So. Hopefully you're all still reading, and I hope you like the new chapter! _

...

Chapter Nine –Reunion

Shallow breathing. Hope lay on his back, staring up at the dark red rock above his head, perfectly still. It was a Pulse-honest miracle they hadn't been found yet, although he supposed he had the thick vegetation and the impracticality of manoeuvring large groups of people across Vallis Media's lush terrain to thank for that. He forced himself to stay awake, listening to Snow's rasping breaths as the older man slept, waiting for something to change, for better or worse. Chewing on his lip had become a new habit, he mused, as he tried to focus his thoughts somewhere other than death, and the inevitability of it. He was scared, he knew. He wasn't weak because he was, either. He knew Snow was scared too. If he felt anything right now, that was. Hope glanced over at the blond man, in his ripped brown jacket and grey slacks. Blood painted his clothes and his face, though Hope had made a good effort at cleaning the worst of it off. Snow was still bleeding, it trickled from little scratches he had been unable to staunch.

A pained moan passed the man's lips, and Hope caught his breath. Loneliness was eating away at him, it had been a long time since Snow had been lucid enough to converse with him – but it appeared that the blond was not going to wake up, and Hope closed his eyes with a sigh, pushing aside his own dull, throbbing pain. They flew open again almost immediately when the body lying against his own spasmed. Fear flooded Hope, and his chest constricted as he rolled onto his stomach and looked at the elder. The hole in his belly where the spike had pierced through throbbed, and for a moment the pain was too much, sending Hope into a haze. He shuddered and forced his brain to be more proactive. Shaking his head and pushing aside the wave of nausea, somehow, he focussed on Snow's face.

It was deathly pale, and slack. It was like he had already died, and if it weren't for the convulsing of the man's chest, that might have been the case. Hope could tell what was happening; the shudders showed that Snow's heart was failing. It was trying to work properly, but it couldn't, and Snow's other internal organs would be failing, too, one by one...his lungs would stop functioning, and it looked like that had begun already – the man obviously couldn't breathe anymore. His eyes moved oddly behind closed eyelids, as though they too were spasming. It was horrifyingly obvious that Snow was dying.

The silver haired boy gasped and pushed himself up, leaning over Snow. "No. No. You can't leave me, I won't let you! Don't leave me by myself!" Hope clutched at Snow's coat as the colour visibly drained from the older man's face. He hadn't moved at all, but his chest was moving erratically, and his breathing was all over the place. His body trembled underneath Hope, and desperation tinged the boy's voice as he carried on calling to Snow. "Wake up, please, don't die, don't do this!" With a final cry, he fisted his hands and pressed his face against Snow's heart. "Please. Live. Get better."

Somehow, it worked. Somehow, with a shock of certainty, he knew his l'Cie capabilities were still around. He felt the magic flow through him like it had all those years ago, sending wave after wave of healing magic into the man beneath him. Green light pulsed from his fingers, just as it had when he'd cast cure on the field, as a medic, when they were all fighting together. For a few minutes he just watched, mouth open. Then he laughed, and it came out a little hysterical, but he didn't care. Whatever he was doing was working, as it always did, mending Snow inside and out, and their little shelter was soon filled with the faint green glow of healing energy. Beyond the relief, Hope began to wonder how he was able to do this, and whether this meant he could still utilise the other spells that had come so easily before...thunder, fire, water...the minute his energy began to fail and he was compelled to pull his hands away, he twisted his arm around and pulled his ragged sleeve back.

No brand. Nothing. He had to admit that with the relief at the resurgence of the l'Cie powers at the very moment his desperation peaked had him worried that he'd become a l'Cie all over again, with a brand and an obscure focus. But there was nothing, not a sign of it. A groan snapped him out of his reverie.

"Hope?" Snow was looking up at him in confusion.

"The l'Cie powers. They're back." The boy blurted, before blinking, taking a sharp breath, and throwing his arms around Snow's neck, burying his face in the broad chest and ignoring the blood there. His voice, when he spoke, came out a little hoarsely, and it sounded strained. "I thought you were going to die on me. You nearly died!" He shook, but there was a smile on his face, one of intense relief.

A long pause was followed by Snow's whispered comeback. "You healed me? The way we did when we were fighting the Sanctum?" Hope nodded, eyes fluttering, then launched into an explanation, trying to convey to his companion the feeling of the spell knowledge and accompanying rush of magic running through his veins and enabling him to save Snow's life. "It must have been desperation..." He finished. "Though I don't know how...there's no brand." He added when he saw Snow's lucid eyes dart to his wrist. He held it up to show the elder, and Snow nodded, satisfied. Then, the man pulled open his jacket and yanked up his shirt. The bullet wounds were gone, save for a few marks here and there that would likely scar.

"You saved my life, kid." He murmured after a few seconds, pushing the shirt down again.

"Yeah, that's what, my one to your...several." Hope joked, smiling weakly. "I can still feel it. The magic I mean..." He frowned, wondering how to explain the buzz, the hum of the latent magic in his blood, as though it was waiting to be used. "Maybe we've been given the l'Cie magic back so we can fight these soldiers..."

"Maybe...but with no brand?" Snow sat up, still inspecting himself. He then turned his attention to Hope, sensing the fatigue that was close to overrunning the slender teenager. He reached over and pulled on the silver ponytail a little, grimacing at the blood caked in Hope's hair. "I should probably try and sort you out, huh?"

"Hn. You were never very good at being a medic." Hope tutted, eying Snow's hands warily. More than once Snow's enthusiasm had set something on fire when he intended to cast a cure.

"No need, you big brute. Let someone with gentle hands do it." Hope's eyes widened, and he glanced over Snow's shoulder as the new voice broke through the wary silence.

...

Fang tensed and whirled around. "L'Cie magic..." She murmured in explanation when her companion touched her arm. The group of people they were with hadn't noticed her freeze, and they shuffled on. Her eyes followed the feeling, and squinted up the valley, darting about until they settled on a faint greenish glow in the distance. She gripped Vanille's wrist and ignored the younger girl's indignant huff. "Look, Vanille..." Fang didn't take her eyes off the faint glow, knowing Vanille would obey.

"Healing magic! There's l'Cie up there!" The redhead exclaimed, bouncing a little on her feet. Fang nodded. "Let's ditch this lot for a minute and investigate!" The girl continued, and Fang could have leapt for joy. They'd only been travelling with this ragtag bunch of survivors for a day and a half, but they were slowing them down and driving Fang crazy with their constant bickering – not to mention the leader's obvious flirting with Vanille.

"Better idea, let's ditch them for good."

"Be nice, Fang, they need us."

That was the truth. Four times they'd been ambushed, and four times Fang and Vanille (with the help of Hecatoncheir at one point) had fought the intruders off to protect the little group. One of the men had been killed, but Fang considered that a pretty good rate of surviva considering she and Vanille did most if not all of the skirmishing. They'd been practising with their l'Cie magic, casting spells as well as fighting with their weapons, and whilst their aims had been a little off and their casting a bit wobbly, they'd gotten better. At least, they'd gotten good enough to fight without being too injured themselves. Fang had worked up the courage to heal Vanille's thigh, a gesture that had gone greatly appreciated. In fact, the girl had kissed her cheek in thanks, and then giggled when the older woman had gone crimson in response. It wasn't often that Fang was wrong-footed, but it seemed to happen a lot around Vanille. They had been unable to hide the magic from the group they travelled with, of course, which had proven a little tricky to explain away. Naturally the display had made the ex Cocoon residents a little wary of the pair, and though neither had been particularly bothered by the open suspicion, it had made making decisions difficult.

Still, the group of men and women were grateful they had powerful allies, and so when Vanille told them that she and Fang were going to go investigate something without them and would be gone a few hours, naturally, there were a few disgruntled mutters. Fang sneered. "I'm sure you'll cope without us for a little bit." A grunt of resentment, this from the leader, a man called Dorun. Dorun was eying Fang suspiciously, and the woman rolled her eyes. "Look, we aren't going forever." However much she wanted to. "We'll be right back, we have to go investigate something."

"Why can't we come, to? We should stick together."

"You'd slow us down." Vanille's tone was sympathetic, her rapport was better with Dorun, and the man finally nodded his acquiescence, though he was obviously put out. Taking Fang's hand, the bouncy girl took off at a run, and the older woman followed without hesitation, leaping over fallen trees and scrambling up the valley towards the rocky outcrop she'd seen the flashes of green-tinted magic coming from. They covered the distance blissfully quickly, rid of their stumbling group of ragged survivors. Fang could sense her partner's excitement, and even when they let go of one another to avoid smacking into obstacles as they navigated the lush valley floor, she could sense Vanille's life force, her presence, the essence that was uniquely her. She was hyper-aware of the girl's movement, she always had been. The depth of their connection both terrified and delighted her.

Vanille stopped a little way short of the place Fang had pointed out to assess the situation. Fang jumped up next to her, eyes taking in the rocky section of valley ahead of her. Some way ahead there had been a recent rockfall, perhaps caused by an earthquake. Vallis Media was on a fault line after all, they happened sometimes. Green eyes swept along the valley and alighted upon a little hole in the valley wall, more of a crack. Surrounded by the lush green of the surrounding jungle, Fang noted the haze of green magic surrounding it. As she watched, it flickered and died. Curiously, and with a hint of caution, she approached the crack, followed by Vanille. Creeping up to it, her boots silent on the spongy ground, she inched closer, peering into the darkness. The green light was fading around the hands of a boy with silver hair, some of which was yanked back into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. The boy was leaning over a well-built blond man with a mess of blood-caked hair. Recognition lit up her face, and she heard Vanille give a tiny, delighted gasp from beside her. She gripped the girl's arm. For several seconds they stared, hardly daring to believe what they were seeing.

Her heart felt light. Snow and Hope were alive. They were safe. Sure, they were covered in blood, bruises and scratches, but they were in one piece, here, hiding out in Vallis Media, and apparently in full possession of their l'Cie magic, as well. Hope pulled his hands away from Snow's chest, and Fang watched the older man sit up, her hand tightening on Vanille's wrist. The girl was shaking with joy, her excitement palpable. It was amusing to think that the boys hadn't heard them arrive, they were so absorbed in each other. They were conversing, and Fang curled a lip at Snow's offer to reciprocate the cure. Snow had never been great at healing magic, and by the look on Hope's face, the boy was aware of this. She chose this moment to interrupt.

"No need, you big brute. Let someone with gentle hands do it." She smirked as two sets of incredulous eyes snapped to her in disbelief, and she finally let go of Vanille's arm. Immediately the girl shrieked and leapt forward, crying out the other two's names in delight. She crashed into Hope, who had hauled himself to his feet as his eyes lit up in pure joy, and the pair went sprawling back to the floor. The silver haired boy spluttered and blushed when Vanille smashed her lips against his cheek and squeezed the life out of him, tears streaming down her face. Fang's smile softened, and suddenly she found herself in Snow's bearlike embrace.

"Man, it's good to see you." He said gruffly, and Fang rolled her eyes before pushing him off. He grinned lopsidedly at her, eyes drinking in the sight of his friend.

The woman smirked again. "Likewise, we thought you were goners." Snow grinned, and opened his mouth to reply, when a pained cry interrupted.

"Sorry!" Vanille wailed, scrambling off Hope, whose face had contorted in pain as he clutched his stomach. "Here..." The redhead shuffled close and gently unwound blood soaked bandages from around Hope's stomach. The boy growled, and winced. Fang watched her young companion, until the girl's face drained of colour, whereupon she followed Vanille's gaze and grimaced. Hope's stomach was a mess, a half-healed wound that told of a massive tear in his stomach. A recent tear, and a tear that had suffered strain since. "Jeez, kid, how are you even conscious...?" Fang felt a hint of respect as she glanced up at Hope's face. It was taut with pain, but determination shone in pale green eyes.

"Had to be. He was dying, had to drag him away from a lot of guys with a lot of guns." Hope muttered through gritted teeth, jerking his head at Snow, who was shaking his head.

"Kid fell on a spike, went straight through him." The blond man murmured, lips curling in disgust as he looked at the messy wound. Vanille was pulling the bandages away and letting her hand hover over the gaping hole, murmuring 'Cura' under her breath every few seconds. The familiar green light encompassed the tiny little hole in the valley wall again, and Fang and Snow looked on as Vanille healed Hope's various injuries. Fang counted them as she did. Entry and exit wounds, one each on his stomach and back, presumable from whatever he'd fallen on. Two gunshot wounds to the lower thigh and upper arm on his left side, and a couple grazes where bullets had obviously skimmed him. Hope must have been drawing on his l'Cie magic to keep himself alive without even realising it. There was no way a normal human would have survived those injuries, let alone been able to fight and protect Snow without medical attention. All of them had suffered horrific injuries when they'd fought the Sanctum – hell, Snow had tumbled from the top of a high-rise and not died – and every time, Fang had known that without the magic of the l'Cie running through their veins, they would not have survived them.

Vanille was helping Hope sit up by now. And then they were hugging again, and Fang smiled. The two youngest members of their old group had always been close, and their delight at seeing one another again was palpable.

"So, care to explain what you're doing here?" Snow asked her, pulling her down to sit next to him. She shrugged. "Woke up back on Pulse. Cocoon's still in the sky, we have no brands, but we have our powers – and our summons. We woke up in front of Oerba. It had been totally flattened." She took in Snow's appearance again. "But I guess you knew that..."

Snow closed off completely, and Hope winced. Both young men exchanged a glance and fell quiet. Fang blinked rapidly, and looked at Vanille, who bit her lip. Snow sighed, his breath shuddering. "Serah's dead. Nora too. Our baby." He explained when the word 'Nora?' formed on Fang's lips. "No word of Sazh, Dajh or Lightning. Or Hope's father." Hope trembled a little, and Vanille wound her arm around him. Both women fell silent, understanding Snow's pain and feeling sadness themselves. Losing family was the most painful experience you could go through, in Fang's opinion. If Vanille died, Fang would probably die of anguish, herself. After avenging her, of course. She quickly pushed the thought from her head with a shudder. "At...least we're together again..." She said lamely. The look Snow sent her was soft – he knew she wasn't one to make soppy declarations, and by the look in his eyes, he was grateful to her. It was her was of trying to ease his pain. She rested her hand on his shoulder, and beckoned to the other two. The four of them curled up together, reflecting on their various losses while at the same time delighting in each other's company.

...

Snow watched as dawn broke across the valleys of Vallis Media. The landscape was hazy, early morning fog clouding the view, but with the sun breaking through the clouds, the misty ground was breathtaking. Cold nipped at the man's face, and he scratched his stubble, blinking. It was almost too bright to see properly despite the fog, and a sense of calm washed over him. A smile touched his face as he imagined that Serah was the sun, greeting him with her gentle warmth. "I miss you..." He murmured. "But I have to keep moving forward..." He remembered telling Hope the same thing when the boy had accused him of not caring about the lives he'd ended without meaning to, and sighed softly. "I hope that wherever you are, you're happy. Maybe you're with your parents, maybe even sis, too...look after Nora for me, alright?" He murmured, bowing his head. He had nothing of Serah but memories, the necklace he had always worn was long smashed, and nothing had survived the destruction of their apartment. Anger and pain began to trickle into him again. Damnit...he was trying so hard to find closure, but every time he thought of his dead wife, fury would monopolise his thoughts, turn them dark and rage-fuelled...he began to shake, hands curling into fists as he internally raged at the injustice of it all. She was everything, and now she was gone!

A hand touched his wrist, and he jumped. That hand then snaked into his and squeezed gently, and Snow glanced down. Vanille smiled weakly up at him, her eyes swimming with tears. She must have heard him, for she sighed softly. "I'm sorry. I know what she meant to you. She'll look after your daughter until you're ready to join them." She murmured. "Just...don't go yet, okay? We need you..." A watery smile, and Snow found her simple, honest words heartening. The rage and pain trickled away, and he felt better than he had in days. Of course that might have been because Hope had healed him. He squeezed her hand. "I missed you, Vanille." He chuckled, meaning it. "Where are – "

"Still sleeping." Vanille answered before he finished. "Curled up together, it's kinda sweet looking. Come see." A cheeky grin, and Snow, glad of the distraction from his morbid thoughts, followed. Sure enough he was met by a rather cute sight. Fang and Hope were cuddled together as they slept, oblivious to the two observers. Hope's head was pillowed on Fang's arm, and Fang's cheek was pressed against the boy's hair. They'd all fallen asleep tangled together, and Snow had had to extricate himself from three sets of limbs. He smiled slightly, wondering what Fang would say to him – or do to him – if she knew he was laughing at her being soft and cute with Hope, whom she had always been rather rough with in the past, never one to put up with whining or angst. Yes. He was happy for this little distraction, and he was happy to have three of his old friends with him once again.

Slowly, slowly, he would get over this. It would take a long time, and a lot of distractions, but he would heal from this. He always healed.

...

_Author's note: FINALLY They're together! :D_

_Next time: Vanille follows a soldier to find out more about them, much to Fang's displeasure, and we (finally) find out what happened to Sazh. Yay!_


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's Note: Welcome back to a new chapter. This one is extra long to make up for the few months I've been away. Real life sort of got in the way a bit, I crash landed into a new job, and it threw me a little. However, I intend to get Abyssus back on track, and will also be producing a couple of companion artworks as compensation for such a long gap._

_Rather Obvious Note: I'm not taking ANYTHING from FF-13-2 into account. I know I could feasibly squeeze some of the plot elements in, but I don't want to. This disregards EVERYTHING mentioned in 13-2._

_Dedicated to **Rueme**, who sought me out on my other website to chivvy me and generally encourage me to get back into this. The things she said to me were so helpful, and filled me with real confidence and enthusiasm. So thanks so much to you,this one's for you! :)_

_Oh, and one final thing: I'm currently using a different word processing program, so if it comes out looking all funny, I'm sorry!_

…

Chapter Ten – Changing the Rules

Vanille leaned back, soaking in the midday sun, pretending for a moment that the world was at peace. There were no soldiers, no fighting. Just her, her friends, and the pale Vallis sun. She could tell from it's colour and position that the rainy season was on the verge of breaking. Rain had fallen here and there over the last few days, but it was nothing compared to the deluges they would have to deal with in the coming weeks. She closed her eyes with a sigh.

"Are you alright?"

When she opened them again, Hope was looking down at her, hands in the ragged pockets of his too-big jeans. He had that half-smile on his face she remembered, but other than that, he had changed. His face lacked the childish softness it had had when she'd last seen him, he was more angular, his hair longer, eyes harder. She grinned and grabbed his arm, dragging him down to sit next to her. "I'm fine. Just another adventure, hey?" Everyone was growing up around her; Hope wasn't a child anymore, and Snow more of a man than he had been, back when he'd barely been out of his teenage years. He hadn't been particularly mature then, always playing the hero and getting himself in trouble – but wasn't that what she had loved about him? The knowledge that he had settled – and with a family before all...this...happened was almost scary. He had changed too. Was the world going to keep changing around her? She was technically now five hundred and twenty-two, but she looked nineteen, though she certainly didn't feel it. Pulse be damned, Hope would catch her up, soon, at this rate, and he was supposed to be the baby, the one _she_ got to mother and look after. Maybe...just maybe this time it would be different. Maybe she would be left alone to grow up and enjoy her life.

Provided she survived of course.

"Another adventure..." Hope echoed, looking out across the valley. It was impossible to see civilisation from out here, they'd run too far from the ruins of Vallis City, though if Hope squinted, he could still see dust and smoke on the horizon. "You think they've given up?"

"We'd be so lucky. Whoever they are, they've got a serious grudge against us, for whatever reason. Fang's desperate to find out why." The older woman had gone to find their survivors, under duress. She'd obviously been hoping Vanille had forgotten about them in her delight at reconvening with Hope and Snow, but the smaller girl had been quick to admonish her and send her to fetch them and bring them up here. Up the valley they had a good view, Hope had chosen well even in his pain and fear-addled state, they could see for miles, and had the comforting wall of the valley at their backs, with a plausible escape route up into the leafy mountains should they need it. "We can stay here for a while, make a sort of base camp. We're no l'Cie, we don't have a focus, so there's no need to move around until we've got a clearer idea of what's happening to Pulse." She said after a few minutes of silence.

"What's it like?"

"What's what like?"

"Being in crystal stasis."

Vanille considered the question for a few minutes. "It's a little like being asleep, I suppose. Without the dreaming. Maybe it's what death feels like, too. If that is what death feels like, then the reward for completing your focus really isn't much of a reward at all. I'm glad you and the others didn't have to become crystals. We wanted you to be free to live your lives, me and Fang..."

Hope smiled, looking down at his shoes, almost worn through thanks to the rocky terrain and all the running. "It was a very selfless thing to do."

"Well, you were the ones with friends and families waiting for you. We'd already been asleep for five hundred years, it seemed like the right decision. I was alright, I knew I was with Fang, and that made me happy." Vanille sat up and sighed. "But it's nice to feel the sun on my face again. At least for a few weeks." She laughed, and Hope looked up at the sky, pale blue on the horizon but deeper right above them. Clouds gathered on the horizon far away, and with a gentle sigh, Hope let his head fall on Vanille's shoulder. He was taller than her, now, much to his delight and her chagrin.  
"...Yeah." He murmured. "I guess it'll be raining a lot more, soon. My dad designed a great system to use the heavy rain to produce energy for Vallis City, it was only implemented last year. I guess he'll never get to see it working properly now."

"There's still hope. We're not going down without a fight, that much I can promise!" Vanille bounced to her feet. "Come on. We should find something for our little gang to eat. Everyone's gonna be hungry, and I bet I know more about what tastes good here than you do!"

…

Sazh Katzroy took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself. Dajh seemed to sense his annoyance, as the quiet ten-year old slipped his hand into his father's, and squeezed. Sazh glanced down and smiled. Since the boy's birthday, when Oerba had gone up in flames, he had been on a very tight coil. Dajh was a well behaved child, but some of his friends were a right pain in the behind. There were seven little boys and two girls, all either nine or ten, who had been present at Dajh's birthday party, which had been in full swing when the sky seemed to catch fire and the world turned upside down. Of those children, one girl and four boys, including his Dajh, had survived. With them was the girl's mother, Jeanne. Between her and Sazh, they were looking after all five children, and running scared from pursuers who might be just hours behind. He didn't even know where they were heading, just that it was away from Oerba. They'd lain low and Sazh was fairly certain they remained undetected, but with patrols of foreign blue and black clad soldiers setting out across the countryside, he wasn't taking chances, and they were constantly moving.

Right now, two of the boys were whining about their feet hurting. "Do you see any other way, boys?" Jeannie was saying, voice irritable. Well at least he wasn't the only one being wound up. He looked around, recognising the leafy skyline from the first time he passed through with a shiver of recognition: he knew where they were. The Massif hadn't changed at all – no-one from Cocoon had built there, and the horizon was still dominated by metropolitan ruins set amongst an almost prehistoric wild landscape. Blue-green grass bounced under their feet, and those children who were not complaining were gazing around with awe, having not left Oerba since falling from Cocoon.

Currently, Sazh was the only member of their party who could fight. He still had his two pistols, and plenty of ammunition in his pack, around his neck, looped on his belt – anywhere he could concievably stash it, he supposed. Even little Dajh carried more for him, along with his own pistol. Which Jeannie didn't know about. He was pretty certain the other adult of the group would question the sense of giving a ten year old a lethal weapon. But not only did he trust his son implicitly, the boy was precocious and clever, and he wanted to be sure that, if needs be, Dajh could protect himself.

The boy could fire it, too. His arms were strong, his eyes always focussed. Yes, Dajh was plenty responsible enough.

The Yaschas Massif opened up in front of them, huge in it's yawning, sprawling wilderness. The wildlife leapt up around them, from the very small insects buzzing between flowers that bloomed with intese, surreal colours, to the distant yowl and growl of the Massif's larger inhabitants. His knowledge of them made his hand shift unconsciously to one of his pistols. He remembered snippets of his past here, when they were passing through as l'Cie, trying to complete their focus. He instinctively pulled open the top half of his filthy, dark green shirt to look at his chest. There was no mark, nor was there one on Dajh hand. That was the past, and he needed to stop worrying about it.

Pulse knew, he had enough to worry about already.

…

Snow was unimpressed with the ragtag bunch that Fang brought back, and the stony look on her face mirrored his thoughts perfectly. Ennis Dorrun was their unofficial leader, and he wasn't exactly renegade material. If they were going to defend their home from this new threat, Snow could think of people better suited. Dorrun was a short, stocky man who came up to his chest. For some reason, that seemed to offend him. There were perhaps fifteen men and women, a sullen-looking child who didn't appear to be related to anyone in particular, and a baby. They were all of them sallow-skinned and half starved looking, but then, if Snow were to look at his own reflection right now, he would be willing to bet he looked pretty rough, too.

"So, you know these guys?" Dorrun was muttering. Fang gave a short nod.

"They're old friends. They can fight, too, and well, so we're gonna need 'em." Snow practically felt Hope swell with pride next to him at her statement, and bit back a grin. The boy had always appreciated compliments from the stoic, feisty older woman. "Maybe you can smack this sorry lot into shape, hey Snow?" Fang winked at the two young men.

"I expect it could be arranged. Not a weapon in sight among them, mind."

"Doesn't stop you." Hope pointed out, smacking at one of the massive fists folded across Snow's chest.

"True, kid, but I'm just that special."

"Don't call me kid."

"...What then? Squirt? Shorty? Midg-" Hope reached up and smacked him upside the head, and Snow winced. "Hey, ouch. You weren't tall enough to do that before." The haughty look the silver haired boy shot him then was priceless, and Snow couldn't help but grin. Being back with Hope, and Vanille and Fang was good for him. He had missed his gang, even, he mused guiltily, when he had been living in wedded bliss and starting his family. He shook himself back to reality and muttered to himself, ignoring the odd look Hope threw him. He folded his arms across his chest. "So..." He addressed Dorrun, then glanced over the group at large. "Can any of you fight? And I mean really fight, with finesse, not just brawl like bar-monkeys."

Silence. Then, a few hands slowly went up, though the looks on their faces suggested they weren't too sure about it all. The blond man sniffed and counted the hands that were raised. One of the women, and two men who thought they could fight back against the invaders. Oh boy. He had an awfully long way to go. "Alright then...Dorrun." Of course the pack alpha had put up his hand. "Show me how good you are."

"Against you?" Disbelief as the shorter man sized Snow up. A booming laugh answered him, and Snow shook his head. "No. Against her." He pointed to Vanille, who bounced on her feet and smiled happily at him.

Dorrun stared at her, blinking. "Are you joking...?"

"Hey. Don't underestimate me!" Vanille sang, bouncing over. "What is this, no weapons, just normal hand to hand fighting?" She liked her rod, but before she had acquired it she had been trained in martial arts to perfection by an overzealous Fang. All of them had been forced to learn quickly when they had been turned into l'cie. Magic and weapons aside, there were times when there had been no choice but to rely on fists and good fortune. Luckily, between Snow, Fang and Lightning, she had been given some pretty thorough lessons in this style of combat. She couldn't say she enjoyed it, but she could do it. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she clasped her hands behind her back and waited for Dorrun to make a move.

He didn't. "I can't fight her, she's a girl!"

"What about him?" Snow jerked his head at Hope.

"He's just a kid!"

Snow ran a hand over his face. "Okay. Okay. Let's get something straight here. This 'kid' and this 'girl' are not to be underestimated. It's an insult to 'em. Vanille. Spar with Hope. Hand to hand, since you're the only one with a working weapon." Vanille's eyes gleamed. They had often sparred to keep fit and alert while on Pulse all those weeks (years?) ago. Vanille had usually wiped the floor with Hope, but she was interested to see what three years had done for him. The silver haired boy shrugged and walked over.

He said nothing, merely jerked his head, though his lips were curled into a slight grin. She huffed. "Not fair. You're taller than me, now." She dropped back into a crouch and raised her hands in a very basic defensive posture. Hope took that as a cue to launch an attack, and darted forward, marvelling at how quickly this all came back to him. He had missed Vanille more than he realised. Predictably, she blocked his first two hits and ducked his third, swinging her leg out to catch him in the back of the knees. His hand was there first, catching her ankle and pushing, and the girl had to dance back and hit the ground on all fours to regain her balance. She switched feet and twisted, kicking for Hope's stomach, though both of them knew it wouldn't actually connect. It was a dance to them, they had perfected sparring without actually hurting each other, borne of necessity when they had been nursing injuries. Cures and healing did wonders but they didn't soothe lingering aches and pains.

The two lost themselves in the fight, and as he watched, Snow led a commentary for the sake of the onlookers. He was quick to point out that learning to fight like this was pointless if you couldn't wrestle a gun off someone, and careful to explain that both Vanille and Hope had primary weapons that were not their fists for long range combat. He left out the magic he still wasn't exactly sure _how_ they still had. They had no l'Cie brand, yet, apparently, they could still cast magic, and if Fang was to be believed, summon the eidolons. He was still mulling this thought over when Vanille began to beat Hope back. She was aiming her kicks higher, forcing the younger boy to back off to block them, and as she did, she giggled, taunting him playfully.

She was cut off, however, by a loud crack that had everyone flinching reflexively. The sparring pair stilled as the cliffs around them echoed the sound, and Vanille fell silent, giggles fading out. Hope's eyes darted to Snow in question.

"What was that...?" Fang snapped before anyone else could utter a sound.

"I'm not sure." Snow stared out of the valley towards Vallis city. The distant crackle of gunfire reached their ears, and the group shifted nervously, wondering which poor bastard was being shot at all those miles away. Vanille reached out and grabbed Fang's arm for moral support, and the older woman draped a muscled arm across her shoulder in comfort.

"Maybe we should go check it out...?" Fang murmured, glancing at Snow for confirmation. Pride gathered in the brawny blonde's chest – she was deferring to him. He was still their leader, the one in charge. It was a good feeling.

"Do you want to do it?" He confirmed. Fang was good, she could be surrepticious and stealthy, and she knew what to look for.

"Sure. I'll take the kid along with me." She jerked her head at Hope.

"Me?"

"Sure, you. Why not? Shake things up a little. Besides, Vanille's gonna pound these losers into shape." The slur had the group of newcomers fidgeting and muttering angrily. Vanille giggled. "I'll be nice!" She assured. Snow backpedalled. She was taking Hope? Why? Old, familiar concern for the boy's safety bubbled to the surface, but Snow squashed it and kept his mouth shut. Hope wasn't fourteen anymore, and he certainly wasn't a naïve child. He would listen to Fang, and do what she told him.

Right?

"Alright." He said finally. "You two go, we'll hang tight here. Don't get yourselves killed, now." He shot a worried glance at Hope, who missed it completely. Fang noticed, however, and as she breezed past, she smirked. "Don't worry, big man. I'll look after him."

"What? I – " But Fang was gone, and Hope with her, already scrambling down the valley. With a doomed, weary sigh, he turned back to the group of Oerbans, who gazed back at him with mixed awe, wariness and respect. "Right...right. So. Basics of hand to hand combat..."

…

Fang kept a sharp pace, and that was how she liked it. It was a test, and she knew Hope knew it, but the boy was diligently keeping up, not a whine or a whimper to be heard. He scrambled along behind her, silver hair glinting in the afternoon sun. They'd jogged nearly six miles back towards the lower end of the valley in just under an hour, keeping low and near the looming cliffs. The plains stretched out into the horizon, and the smoking pillars of the ruined city lay before them, another few miles away. Hope grimaced. "Damn, we didn't even get as far as I thought..." He huffed. "I imagine they're making the ruins of the city their base..."

"Not unlikely." She agreed, pulling to a stop and noting with some smugness that Hope bent over and coughed, hands on his knees. She still had it. When he looked up again, his eyes widened. "Cocoon be damned..." He murmured. Fang whirled around, and she too raised her eyebrows. "Well. That thing is rather large, don't you think?" What could only be described as a tank was rolling slowly past, less than a mile away, having just come into view past the valley wall. It was massive, lumbering along, easily the height of the high cliffs around them. "Damn, I hope Snow's lot are well hidden...that thing must be able to see for miles..." She muttered, pulling hope over to her. "Come on. We'll skirt round it." As they jogged on, sneaking quietly through the undergrowth and using the bright foliage for cover, Hope stared up at the machine, slack jawed. His father would have appreciated the engineering behind it, that was for sure. He was so busy looking up that he didn't see the metal spread across the ground in front of him until he tripped over it.

A sharp cry as he fell on his face, cursing. Fang whirled around, livid. "Shut up you little..." She trailed off, looking around. She had been so focussed on walking she hadn't even looked twice at what they were walking over. "What _is_ all this stuff...?" Hope pulled himself to his feet, flushing in embarrassment. He shrugged, looking at the mess. It was a jumble of twisted metal and pieces of junk.

"It's not from the city. It must be _theirs._" Fang smirked, amused at the dramatics in Hope's voice. She picked up what looked to be a piece of a gun.

"It's just junk, if it's been left here like this."

"No...no...we could use this." A wicked grin that Fang thought she could learn to appreciate split Hope's face. She glanced at the thing by his feet. It looked like a huge gun, with bits hanging off the bottom and sticking out from the top haphazardly. She raised an eyebrow. It looked very broken and unusable to her.

"That thing's bigger than you, kid." She replied with a smirk as Hope picked up the strange machine and winced at the weight. "Pulse, it's heavy." He shouldered it and wobbled, looking down the sight after twisting it back into place with a whistle. "Nice range...this thing is buzzing with tech...I reckon we could fix it up..."

"Yeah, well don't try to fire it, no need to let them know we're here." Fang rolled her eyes. It didn't look like it could be fired, it looked like a useless piece of metal, but she didn't say as much, leaving Hope to his delight.

"Can I keep it?" The boy grinned.

"That childish joy on your face is alarming considering that the thing you're so excited about looks like a Pulse-damned rocket launcher." Fang sighed, unable to stop herself from grinning at the look on the younger boy's face. His eyes roved over the piece of equipment with analytical intelligence, already mentally assessing its capabilities and potential. Shaking her head, she sighed. "...You're carrying it, you hear? If it gets too heavy, no crying on me." The Pulse native smirked at his offended look. "Oh, don't look at me like that. You know you were the whiny one."

"Fang...please..." A blush. "I was a stupid kid..."

"Not a kid anymore though, are ya?" There were layers of meaning behind that statement that left Hope a little mystified. He wasn't allowed to muse for more than a few seconds, however; "Hey, ouch!" He whined when she tugged the short ponytail at the nape of his neck.

"Never mind. Still a whiny kid." She teased, and Hope gave up, glowering at her back as he stashed it somewhere he'd remember to pick it up when they turned back. She waited for him to finish, then beckoned. "Come on. We still haven't found out what they're doing, and I'm not going back empty handed." There was a fierceness to her voice that she knew was born of her desire to have Snow's approval, just as she knew he sought hers. They were birds of a feather, in some ways.

…

Vanille hopped down onto a boulder, traversing the narrow crevice, keeping one eye on the camp in case she lost it. She was looking for bits and pieces to use in her medical kit – the wildlife on Pulse was rich with vitamins and restoratives. The boulder wobbled, and she squeaked, catching her balance by crouching. "Whoops." As she did so, she spotted whitemint, a pain relieving moss, growing underneath the rock she'd jumped from. "Bingo!" She chirped, yanking it off the rock and shoving it ungracefully into her bag. The pure, minty smell associated with the plant assaulted her nose, and she sneezed.

The snap of a twig nearby had her freezing, however. Her head whipped around, and her fingers twitched, finding the rod strapped to her back. Pressing back against the rock behind her, she stared down the valley intently, wondering if Hope and Fang had disturbed anyone.

A navy-clad soldier, cloaked by a full helmet with eye slits so narrow she couldn't see any aspect of his face, materialised out of the dense undergrowth. A gun was held loosely in his grip, in that manner that suggested he was completely at ease with the weapon, and wouldn't hesitate to use it. But that was okay. She could dodge gunfire. She was quick. She slid further behind the rock and kept silent. He was moving towards her, towards Snow and the others. Heart suddenly in her mouth, Vanille knew she had to do something. One soldier he may be, but there might be others. He might have a radio. If he spotted the ragtag, exhausted little group, it would all be over.

…

_Next time: Hope and Fang do some digging, Vanille does a scavenger hunt of her own, and Snow does some uncharacteristic worrying._


End file.
